Ambient Dreams
by sohna
Summary: Sometime following his dream of Padme dying, Anakin has another dream that shows him what will happen if he turns to the Dark Side. EU not respected except for Jedi Apprentice. AU angst.
1. Chapter 1

Darkness surrounded him. The young blonde-haired man struggled to maintain his grip on the rail, agony twisting his features unrecognizable as smoke rose from his black clothes. But Anakin knew him; knew him from his dreams, knew he was a Jedi if he did not know his name and had never met him in life. In the dream, he was familiar; there was some ... connection ... although he could not specifically say what, exactly, that was. But he cared about him; felt the burning paralyzation of the Sith lightning as the man lay there, gasping.

A voice cut in, a very familiar one; eerily more familiar than the young man's face. It was older and rougher than it should have been, but recognizable just the same.

"Young fool! Only now do you understand," it said as the lightning licked forth again from pale, knarled hands, "Your feeble skills are no match for the Dark side. You will pay the price for your lack of vision!"

The young man writhed and fell onto the floor as the pain licked him. He cried out in agony, his limbs jerking and twisting. Between gasps, he managed to form words...

"Father, please!"

But no father came to his aid. Instead, the robed figure - the Sith Lord - ceased for a moment, the better the finality in his words be heard.

"And now, young Skywalker, you will die," he declared, in Chancellor Palpatine's oddly ruined voice, an evil chuckle escaping his lips, the young man ... young Skywalker ... allowed a momentary false hope. But it was too short before the jagged bluish lance once more engulfed him. He screamed.

Anakin was his father.

The young man was his grown son, having joined the Jedi Order. His son, who lay next to him now, still safe in his mother's womb. His son, begging him from a dream as his grandmother had, as his mother had.

And he, Anakin, had stood with the Sith.

------

He awoke with a gasp, bolting to a sitting position. The room was only moderately dark; headlights from passing vehicles and the countless lights of the city illuminated it clearly even in the quietest part of night. Padme lay beside him on her side, sleeping peacefully. He glanced down at the great swell of her womb, at the soft rise and fall of her breast, and slowly let out his breath in a sigh. Then he inhaled and did it again, to calm himself.

_It can't be true,_ he thought. _It can't_. But he knew that it was. Worse, he knew all the other dreams he'd had about the young man - his son - were also true. In fact, he'd always known, but had been able to ignore them because at the time he hadn't known who the young man was. But in most of those dreams, his son had stood looking at him with lightsaber drawn, as his enemy.

He shuddered. The dream had not thrown him into a choked panic as had the one about Padme, but it held a particular urgency that told him he'd have to act soon to avoid it - even though the events it showed him were at least a good twenty years away.

Next to him, Padme stirred and sat up. He sighed apologetically.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

"Another dream?" she asked.

He avoided her eyes and didn't reply.

"About me again?" Her voice was soft and concerned entirely for him. It broke his heart that she thought so little for herself; what had she done to deserve an early death, except to love him?

"No," he said, and swallowed hard. Almost without volition, he reached out to caress her swollen womb. Her hand closed over his and he felt the baby - his son - kick, almost as if in response to the touch.

"It always does that for you," she murmured, "almost as if it knows you're there."

_Yes,_ he thought. _He'll be a Jedi_. But he said nothing.

"Was it about the baby?" she persisted.

He took his hand away and nodded. Through the Force, he felt her stiffen.

"He was alive in the dream," he hastened to add, looking up at her. "But ..."

"But?"

_But he hated me ... because I was no longer a Jedi; no longer on the side of the light? Because I'd had to use the Sith method to save you - and him - from dying? Or because I hadn't?_

Out loud, he said, "Nothing."

"Anakin." Her voice clearly conveyed irritation at his avoidance. But while he knew he needed to be more open with her - for too many things they had only each other - he was too confused in his own mind and didn't want to panic her with wild speculation.

For instance, Palpatine ... could he really be a Sith himself? It doesn't seem possible; wouldn't the Council sense it? _They hadn't sensed Count Dooku - search your feelings and know the truth... _ Trouble was, he wasn't sure he wanted to hear it; didn't like the implications if it were true. He had embraced Palpatine as a trusted mentor; accepted his patronage; taken his advice since his arrival on Coruscant thirteen years earlier. If it were true, could he trust even himself? Trust anything he thought he knew? _Search your feelings..._

How else had Palpatine known a Sith legend?

The obviousness of it stared at him. How had he _not_ known? Had he wanted so much to believe in the man's claim that something existed to save his wife? That anything existed? That his desperation would cloud all judgement? He leaned forward and buried his head in his hands, knowing it still did; knowing he was still that desperate, that even knowing what Palpatine was, he could not let go of the only shred of hope he'd found that Padme could be saved.

He felt his wife's cool, soothing hands on the hot skin of his back and shoulder and looked up at her, intending to ask her when she would leave for Naboo; that he felt it should be soon. If the dream had done nothing else, it had at least made him wary for her continued safety on Coruscant. But as he saw her face in the half-light of the city's night ambiance, it seemed to recede from him and take on the glow of some angry red illumination. Her eyes opened wide, staring at him in anguished accusation, her mouth working, mouthing the words, "Anakin, no," without sound as she grasped at her throat with both hands.

From somewhere, Obiwan's voice spoke in a tone of command he hadn't realized his master had ever possessed, "Anakin, let her go!"

_His_ was the invisible attack she struggled against, her face darkening. _He_ was the one attacking her, killing her.

"Let her go!"

Abruptly, she fell to the ground, some tiled tarmac on an unknown planet, and lay still. He stared down at her crumpled form, still pregnant. The event was not far away.

Not far away.


	2. Chapter 2

Padme felt the muscles work beneath her husband's skin as he turned to finally face her. Light scattering from the windows illuminated his head from the back, giving a halo to his golden curls, but leaving his features in darkness. She thought he was going to speak, but he remained oddly silent; she was about to prompt him when she felt him start to shake and heard him begin to hyperventilate.

"Anakin?" she asked, suddenly worried.

In reply, his breathing only became more labored and his shivering more intense until he finally collapsed forward onto her.

"Anakin!" she screamed.

She pushed him over onto his back; his head fell limply against the pillow.

"Anakin?"

She shook him gently. No reaction. She shook harder.

"Anakin!"

He remained still, his breathing very shallow. Fighting down panic, she glanced about the room as if something in it would immediately present itself as a solution. Finally, she remembered something about placing one's head lower than one's heart in the event of fainting, and ripped the pillow out from under his head.

Blonde curls bobbed on the mattress, but still there was no reaction from their owner.

_Calm down,_ she thought. _Just because this hasn't happened before doesn't mean it isn't normal. He's a Jedi; maybe this just happens to them occasionally._ She forced herself to take a deep breath, but started shaking at the end of it, unable to avoid comparing her own breathing to his, still oddly shallow even while unconscious.

It was then that he stopped breathing entirely.

"NO!" she shrieked, shaking him by the shoulders and pounding on his chest. "NO! Don't! You can't ..." Her voice broke into great, heaving sobs.

From far away she heard a tinny voice say, "Mistress, do you need assistance?"

_YES! Yes_. "Yes, Threepio," she finally managed to say, "Help."

The golden droid took that to mean that he could enter the bedroom.

"Anakin isn't breathing," she said without looking up. Then she realized it wasn't true. Beneath her hand, his chest was once more rising and falling, and within it she could feel his heart beating. "He wasn't breathing a minute ago," she amended. "I think he may be ill."

"I shall call an ambulance," the droid stated, turning to head for the holophone.

"Yes," she whispered. _It's not worth it. Our secret isn't worth your life. Maybe I'm just being foolish, but I can't stand to take the chance._

_-------_

Although he didn't regain consciousness, by the time the med-droids arrived, Padme had convinced herself that she would be proven foolish for summoning them. But when they told her he needed to go to the hospital immediately, in her renewed panic, she nearly forgot to give them the cover story, and Threepio had to remind her.

"He collapsed in the foyer," the droid prompted.

"Oh, yes," she touched the lead droid's arm, "You found him in the foyer, fully dressed."

"Yes, ma'am," the droid replied. "He was on the floor of the foyer, fully dressed."

In general, this was not an unusual prevarication given to med-droids on Coruscant. They were entirely reliable for their discretion (Padme had made good use of it, she thought, during her pre-natal visits), so long as the fabrications did not interfere with the health care of the patient - or with the law. For best effect, however, she should let the droids take him and remain behind herself. He would get the same care, whether she accompanied him or not. But she couldn't make herself believe in her own logic; in fact, she'd intended to accompany him from the beginning, which was why she'd gotten dressed before they'd arrived (while Threepio had dutifully kept watch over Anakin).

When she saw Jedi Master Windu waiting in the emergency center, she had a fleeting moment of regret. She knew the Jedi would have to be notified, but hadn't expected anyone to arrive so quickly. Would she be able to get away with her lie to him, or would he detect it? It didn't matter; there was nothing to do now but continue with the lie or tell the truth, and she wasn't quite prepared for that. As the ambulance alit, she pulled her shawl around her and hunched her shoulders forward to lessen the bulk around her middle, the supermodel of bad posture.

"Senator Amidala," he greeted her in a baritone she thought would make an opera singer envious, "There was no need for you to disturb yourself by accompanying him."

"Oh, I wanted to, Master Windu," she replied truthfully, her eyes tracking the medical capsule containing her still-unconscious husband as it floated inside.

Master Windu followed its progress for a moment as well, before turning back to her. "Can you tell me what happened?" he asked as they followed it.

As accurately as she could, she described what she had seen happening to Anakin just prior to his collapse, while carefully editing out any suggestion that this had happened in their conjugal bed. In itself, this was not terribly difficult (she was a consummate politician); what she found nearly impossible was appearing as if she had no more than a friend's interest in it. And on the outside, at least, she managed to keep from crying. But his intense, speculative stare made her suspect he could feel her inner turmoil.

Still, he said nothing about it, merely asked, "Do you know why he came to see you so late at night?"

She shook her head. "No," she lied, and quickly sat down in the first available chair she saw in front of the med-alcove, the better to hide her pregnancy from him.

Master Windu remained standing, now directing his attention to Anakin, who had been laid out on the examination table, still clad only in his pants. One of the med-droids turned away from the table and floated over to them both.

"He's perfectly healthy," it said. "Nevertheless, we are losing him. We don't know why. It seems he has lost the will to live."


	3. Chapter 3

Anakin could hear them, but they seemed so far away, like people talking on the holovid in the next room about something inconsequential. Mace's surprised words, "He's dying?" created in him less than a mild curiosity about who was dying - easily extinguished. Beyond that, he heard the familiar voice of a woman, too low to make out her words until she was much closer to him, shaking him for some reason he didn't understand. He knew her, or felt he should know her, but there was something about knowing her that he didn't want to face; didn't want to know. He turned away, skirting the knowledge, sinking deeper towards the infinity that was the Force. Still, she screamed at him, her words a continuous stream of agony: "No, no, no, no, no, don't do this, you come back, DON'T DO THIS, come back, come back, come back..." as she shook him. One thing he did know - he deserved the punishment.

A warm hand covered his brow; not the woman's. It was a Jedi's hand and contained a Jedi's command, mentally given, ordering him to awaken. He fought it, lashed out, _NO!_ The hand snatched back; he'd burned it; he could do that, it gave him satisfaction that he could, like he'd felt in passing his trials. But the hand had some success, too – he was close enough to consciousness now he couldn't ignore the voice unless he chose to give himself to the Force entirely at that moment. He was conscious enough to be curious; conscious enough to dare, to want to know who she was and what, exactly, it was he feared about her.

He opened his eyes and the sight of her set a weight on his chest so heavy he nearly could not breathe. She was his wife, whom he loved more than his own life. She was carrying his child - his twin children. And she would be dead before two months had gone by if he did not kill her himself before then.

He shuddered, drawing at last a deep, ragged breath. She was so beautiful; would be beautiful to him when her hair had long gone gray and they were old together staring back across their long lives. An angel, given to him by the Force, given at the exact time it had called him away so he could learn what he needed to fulfill his destiny. He thought then that he understood. It would not matter - not to him anyway - that she would die so young; he would no longer be living. Bringing balance to the Force would require his life. And hers. And their children's? Were they only tools of the Force - spares to be used in case he failed; disposable otherwise? He could not see that far. They had at least survived in the future he'd seen, lasted past the destruction of the Sith. He had seen the boy holding him, his father, at the end after finally finding him; holding him as he died, as Anakin had held his own mother. His eyes burned and the tears blurred his vision. He could not do that to his son, his brave, angelic son. And if Padme had to die, at least he would not be the one to kill her.

"Anakin," he heard Master Windu's voice say, though he didn't look away from Padme. She stared at him a moment longer before lowering her eyes uncertainly. He knew she was worried about giving too much away; about Master Windu guessing at their relationship. But how little that seemed to matter now.

"Anakin," Master Windu repeated.

Still looking at Padme, Anakin opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't make himself form the words he needed. He licked his lips, finally dropping his gaze to stare at a spot in the air somewhere above his left knee.

"I ... I know who the Sith lord is," he whispered.

For a moment, the Jedi Master was silent, whether with surprise or merely waiting for him to go on, Anakin didn't know. At last he prompted, "Who is it?"

"I would prefer to say who before the entire council." A fleeting memory of Masters Fisto and Tiin meeting a grisly end if Master Windu rushed off too prematurely flickered in Anakin's mind. Nor could he be sure if Master Windu himself would survive if alone. He, Anakin, was the Chosen One; the others were not.

"The council will hear," Master Windu argued. "Tell me."

Anakin finally looked directly at him.

"When the council has convened," he repeated.

Obviously frustrated, Master Windu glared at him.

"Young Skywalker, if you know this information, it is your duty as a Jedi to inform me immediately."

_My duty as a Jedi,_ thought Anakin, _How simple_. Out loud he said, "Then I respectfully resign from the Jedi Order."

He heard Padme gasp and murmur, "Anakin..." and he grasped the hand she rested on the bed tightly.

Master Windu's jaw worked. Finally he said, "I do not accept your resignation."

"What?"

"Your judgement is clouded at the moment. You're not thinking clearly in your present state of mind," the council second explained. "Now, tell me. Who is this Sith lord?"

"I have no proof," Anakin stated. "It's possible my judgement may be clouded."

Master Windu sighed.

"I understand," he said. "Tell me."

"I can't."

The Master stared at him evenly for a moment before saying, "But you could make a special trip in the middle of the night to tell Senator Amidala? Or was there some other reason for your visit?"

Anakin looked at his wife. Her large brown eyes looked back at him, frightened. He took a deep breath, hoping he would be able to explain to her why their secret now needed to be revealed.

"Padme," he said, his voice breaking on her name, "You said it would destroy us, remember?" Her brow wrinkled as her face started to crumble and he went on before his voice failed him, "Well, it's destroying us. Now. That is what I saw." He saw the tears start to spill from her eyes as she looked down, but she made no protest, merely squeezed his hand. Turning back to Master Windu, he said, "I was at her apartment so late because Senator Amidala is my wife." He let that sink in for a moment before adding, "So you see you will have to accept my resignation."

Master Windu regarded him with a cold speculation, then shifted his attention to Padme, his eyes traveling to her waistline and then back to her face. She stared defiantly back at him, though her face flushed red. Anakin felt her embarrassment hotly, but he remained silent as Windu turned to him with narrowed eyes.

"The_ council_ will accept it," he snapped, then turned on his heel and left.

When he had gone, Anakin pulled his wife to him, gathering her in his arms.

"Anakin..." she began hesitantly, but he put a finger gently to her lips.

"Shhh," he whispered, as he took her hand and placed it on her womb feeling a baby kick. "Our baby is a blessing, remember?" As she laid her head on his chest in silent acknowledgment, he privately added,_ That's all that might survive of us._


	4. Chapter 4

Padme watched in silence as her husband dressed himself, his movements slow and deliberate, his face a mask of despair; hopelessness etched into his features and frozen there. He was recovered now, so the med-droids said, but he looked far from it to her. Though he had not died as they had predicted, his eyes had a chilling dead look to them which held no real expression, and the dark circles under them made them look unnaturally sunken in his face.

_I can't believe he left the Order,_ she thought worriedly, wanting to blame his mood on that, but knowing it wasn't true. He'd looked like a walking dead man since he'd awakened. If he'd seen them destroyed by their lie, she understood, but why, now that the truth had been told, did he not recover? Was he regretting his choice? Did he regret their marriage for forcing the choice on him as she'd always feared he would? She swallowed, ashamed at the feeling of relief that had washed over her when the lie had ended; ashamed that the muscles and bones of her neck and back were finally freed from a vice-like grip of tension three years old.

Fully clothed now, he picked up his lightsaber and studied it somberly, turning it over in his hands. The guilt stabbed her again.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

He looked up at her with his dead eyes, regarded her a moment in silence, then reached out to stroke her cheek.

"Could you go to Naboo early?" he asked. "Please?"

"I was going to go in a month ..." she began.

"I know," he said, then added in a rush, "Padme, Chancellor Palpatine is the Sith Lord."

Her eyes snapped up in shock.

"What?" she demanded. "No, he couldn't be..."

But her husband nodded otherwise, and continued, "He's behind the Separatists; he created the war just to give himself more power. He intends to destroy the Jedi Order and declare himself emperor."

She didn't want to believe it; she'd known the chancellor since he'd been a senator; held the same position she held now. He'd never been anything but a kindly old man - to both of them. She had been - still was - worried about how Palpatine had uncomfortably managed to stay in office long after his term had expired and that he had been granted a bit too much power for her liking, but that was still a long way from deciding the man was evil incarnate.

"Padme," her husband went on relentlessly, trying desperately to convince her, "Who is the commander in chief of the clone army?"

_The chancellor_.

"All he has to do," Anakin whispered, "Is order them to side with the droids. They're clones, genetically altered to obey any command, without question. The Jedi are too few. They won't stand a chance."

"But you have to warn them," she cried, convinced at least that Palpatine had a far greater power at his disposal than even she had realized. But beyond that, she knew in her heart that her husband was right, even if she couldn't make herself logically believe the chancellor was really evil.

"I know," he agreed, "But only in front of the whole council, or at least Master Yoda. Master Windu will listen to him. I don't know how long it will be before the chancellor strikes. He was waiting ... is waiting for ..."

"What?"

Anakin looked down in despair and shame.

"Me," he said simply. "He's waiting for me to join him."

"Join him?" she exclaimed. "As a Sith? But you'd never do that!"

His eyes closed in pain.

"I would," he whispered. "I would have; I saw it; it's true."

She touched his arm.

"No," she protested.

He looked up at her with that dead, lost look in his eyes.

"I needed to save you," he tried to explain. "He told me the Sith had a way to do it. I believed him. Only I know now it's a lie, a trap. But I would have done it..."

"Anakin..."

He stared at nothing, or at something only he could see, and began to shake.

"I'm sorry," he whispered softly.

"Anakin," she said, taking his arm and squeezing it. She was terrified he was going to pass out again, and not at all certain he would be so easily awakened this time. This time, she doubted the Jedi would come. Not now that they knew about the two of them. She, however, knew her husband; knew that he needed to act. So she said in a clear voice, "Anakin, what are you going to do?"

He looked up at her.

"I have to save the children," he said.

She blinked; it was certainly not what she had expected him to say.

"Children?" she asked, confused.

"The Jedi younglings," he explained. "The chancellor will order a march on the temple. Everyone inside will be killed, including the younglings."

She stared at him in shock, unable - unwilling - to imagine it.

"But why?" she finally whispered. "Why kill children? It doesn't make any sense."

"They're Jedi," he told her. "Not fully trained, but trained enough to be a threat to the Sith once they're grown. I have to stop it. I've got to save them."

She thought for a moment, and the beginning of a plan began to form in her mind.

"How many of them are there?"

"I think probably about fifty, more or less."

"We can take them," she said, rather impulsively. "We can take them to Naboo."

"That might be too late."

She shook her head.

"No," she said. "We can leave early - today even. No one knew when I was going to leave, but they won't be surprised when I do. We can hide them on my ship - it'll be a little crowded, but not that bad. Once we get to the lake country there'll be plenty of room; there are camp accommodations there specifically designed for a large group of children; I think I told you about it the first time we were there. No one on Coruscant will have to know."

His eyes softened, marginally losing a bit of their dead look, making her heart turn over and giving her hope.

But he said, "Padme, I'm no longer a Jedi - or at least I won't be once I've gone before the council. But even when I was, I never had the authority to take any of the younglings away. Doing so will be a crime; it will be kidnapping."

"Is there some other way to save them?" she demanded to know.

He looked away. "I don't know," he said softly.

"And there isn't time to think something up or wait for something to happen," she told him. "It has to be done; you can't just let them die."

When he looked up at her, she saw the acceptance in his eyes, although it was clear he didn't really like it.

"It's still dark," she said, "and will be for a few more hours. Will it take long for you to round them up? I can be at the temple with a shuttle as soon as I notify Captain Typho we're leaving today."

He sighed heavily and squared his shoulders in resolution.

"It should be possible," he acknowledged, "if all goes well. Meet me at the west docking bay and take a portable holophone so I can call you if the plans change."


	5. Chapter 5

Anakin forced his impatience down as he led the band of the middle level younglings - six and seven-year-olds - to the docking bay. They seemed to be taking an inordinately long time to get where they were going; he worried they would be discovered before they had made their escape and feared the children's doom if that were so. But he had to be patient with them; they had been the ones who had populated his nightmare, and he couldn't bring himself to be unkind. The boy just behind him, the one who was even now watching out for stragglers to make sure they kept up, had been the one who had asked him for guidance in his dream; who had trusted him. As he had trusted him this night when he'd awakened them to tell them to be ready to leave before dawn; trusted him to explain why later. Right now Master Skywalker had said to get ready so they had gotten ready, unaware that Master Skywalker was a Jedi no longer, nor had ever deserved to be. But he would not harm them and neither would anyone else. Not if he could help it.

They turned the corner into the west hangar and he allowed himself a momentary sigh of relief. The older children had done well with getting the toddlers (they weren't technically toddlers any more by the time they came to live with the Jedi, but they were so young Anakin could never think of them as anything else) dressed and ready to leave as he had asked them to do before he'd headed to face the council. His satisfaction was short-lived, however, when he saw the portal standing empty, with no sign of the shuttle his wife had promised. Had she changed her mind? If so, he couldn't blame her, but he'd need to devise another method of evacuating the younglings if she weren't coming, and quickly.

Reluctantly, he dug the portable holophone out of a compartment on his belt. He didn't really want to use it. The temple ran a constant security video. Although his own guilt in kidnapping the younglings was inescapable, there was still a chance for Padme to avoid implication, but only if he refrained from contacting her from here. And while he could call a public shuttle, he didn't want to leave without knowing what had happened to her.

He herded the children over to the docking portal and peered outside. It took no more than that; the inner sense he possessed told him she was waiting for him nearby. He stepped up onto the lip of the apron and looked around, spotting the shuttle hover-parked against the opposite building. It broke loose and headed his way almost as soon as he'd seen it, and he stepped back to give it some landing room.

The younglings filed on quietly. He looked up at Padme as they began to move forward; she was dressed in a tan flight suit which clearly showed her pregnant form, her hair braided in a single plait down her back. His breath caught - it was what she had been wearing in his dream - the dream in which he'd killed her. Would he ... _NO!_ With great effort, he forced the thought down with a swallow and turned to address the children.

"This is Senator Amidala," he said, introducing her. "She will be taking you to Naboo because the war is about to come to Coruscant. The Jedi will be better able to defend the planet without sparing knights to ensure your safety in the temple..." There were murmurs of protest as he suspected there would be, but he held up his hand and continued, "You are the only hope for the republic if the Jedi fall on Coruscant. You know most Jedi have scattered to fight the war elsewhere and not many remain. If we are overcome, you must survive to rebuild the republic and the order. That is your destiny; you are the strategic reserve of the Jedi. You can only do this by leaving Coruscant before the fighting begins so you cannot be found. Please give Senator Amidala your full cooperation."

He looked over at Padme, who was regarding him with alarm.

"You're coming with us," she said. It wasn't a question.

"I can't," he said, the words barely above a whisper.

"Anakin..."

"I know where the Separatist leaders are, Padme. I have to go there. If I can, I'll try to get them to end the war peacefully."

"And if you can't?"

He looked away, but added, "I will call Obiwan to help me. General Grievous has been defeated; I'm sure he can leave the rest of the Utapau battle to Commander Cody."

The shuttle landed on the Naboo senatorial flight platform. Anakin opened the door and motioned for the children to disembark. When they were out of earshot, he continued, "Master Windu and the others are on their way to ask Palpatine to relinquish his powers now that Grievous has been defeated. That's just the way it happened in my dream. If the rest goes the same way ..." - he bit his lip, struggling to keep his voice level - "... Get out of here as fast as you can. I'll take the shuttle to your apartment and use the fighter still there with Artoo. Once we're both in space, I'll contact you so we know each other got away safely. They shouldn't be able to trace our communications once we're away."

He took her in his arms and kissed her deeply, then hugged her hard.

"I'll come to Naboo as soon as I can," he promised.

She was still staring after him as the shuttle disappeared into the vast cityscape of Coruscant.

------

Obiwan's face appeared above the instrument panel of the Jedi fighter, grainy and semi-transparent.

"Anakin!" he exclaimed, surprised. "What is it? What's happened?"

"Obiwan," Anakin began, "Are you alone?"

"I can be," came the reply. After a few moments, he added, "I'm alone now. What's going on?"

"Has the council told you anything?" Anakin asked him, knowing in his heart they had not.

"About what?"

Anakin swallowed. Then he said, "Chancellor Palpatine is the Sith Lord we've been looking for."

"What?! How do you know?"

Anakin gritted his teeth; he'd hoped he wouldn't have to fight to get his friend to believe him as he had the council, earlier. Not that it had done any good; they had obviously not warned any of the other Jedi. Maybe he was alone in this, just he and Padme. But what could just the two of them do? Maybe it was pointless to struggle against it; pointless to resist ...

"Anakin!" his former master's voice snapped him back to the problem at hand. His face looked worried through the transmission noise of the video. "What is the matter? What has the chancellor done?"

"Nothing yet," Anakin replied, knowing as he said it how lame it sounded. "But I know he ... I ..." He was unable to go on; the sentence couldn't be finished to his satisfaction. The council members present - who had unfortunately not included either Obiwan or Master Yoda - had pounced upon his lack of hard facts, of eloquence, of coherence, not just upon his credibility or his trustworthiness, by which he had proven beyond a doubt to them that he'd never possessed, with his revelation about Padme. How could he hope to make Obiwan believe him when he could not even gather his own thoughts?

Anger built up inside him at this lack, and at the foolishly arrogant reaction of the council. Anger could burn away his indecision, burn away this crippling pain he could never seem to otherwise escape. _Use your anger! Focus your hatred!__**NO!**_

He gasped for air in the cockpit, hearing himself cry out in a wordless sob.

"Anakin, what is your position?" his master's voice demanded.

"I ..." Anakin began, struggling to get the words out. "I'm on my way to Mustafar."

"I'll meet you there," said Obiwan.

"You will?" Anakin could scarcely believe it. Obiwan would come?

"Yes," the Jedi master replied, his words clear and deliberate, "Wait for me."

Anakin nodded, rubbing his hand over his face, trying to clear his mind. Had he even told Obiwan why he should come? Did it matter?

"The Separatists," he began, "That's where they are. The Separatist leaders."

"I'll meet you," his friend replied. "I'm leaving right now. Wait for me."

Anakin nodded once more and clicked off the holophone. The computer had been continuously recalculating the lightspeed jump for some time. He engaged it and the stars flew away.


	6. Chapter 6

Padme stood outside the door to her parents' house in Theed, trying to work up the nerve to knock on the door and enter. She hadn't wanted to come here, thinking the less people who knew her whereabouts the better, but Captain Typho had convinced her that since her parents would be expected to know where she was they would be in danger from whomever might be looking for her. It was a perfectly reasonable argument and she'd had to agree. Unfortunately, it meant she would have to get them to accompany her to the lake country, and more awkwardly, it meant she would have to tell them ... everything.

Not that they wouldn't immediately see as soon as she walked in the door that she now had a personal life; she hadn't completely realized how much she had only been fooling herself about hiding her pregnancy until Captain Typho had taken the news as if it were far from a surprise. And she didn't really want to hide it from her mother; at least she didn't want to hide the baby, once it was born. But she did not want her parents to think badly of Anakin, who had married her in direct and willful violation of the code of the Jedi Order. On her way from the spaceport to the house, she'd tried to concoct some way to hide his involvement. The trouble was, the shipload of Jedi children she was transporting made that all but impossible, even if she hadn't known her sister, Sola, would see right through her anyway.

The baby took the opportunity to pound energetically against her ribs.

"I know, I know," she told it. "I can't stand here and dither forever."

Resolutely, she knocked on the old wooden door and turned the handle.

"Mom?" she called into entry hall. "Are you home?"

From somewhere inside, she heard a door open and close, then footsteps. Her mother's face came into view, curiosity quickly replaced with delight as she saw her youngest daughter.

"Padme!" she cried happily, rushing into the room. She stopped short with astonished surprise as her daughter stepped fully into view. "Oh, my dear!" she exclaimed. "Why didn't you tell us?"

Padme opened her mouth to say, though she had no idea what words to use. But her mother made them unnecessary as she took her by the arm, holding her out to survey her more fully.

"No, don't tell me, I know," she went on. "You didn't want to give up that seat in the senate, did you?"

Padme looked down, knowing it was at least partially true. It was tempting to leave it at that, but she knew she could not.

"That's not entirely the reason, Mom," she said softly.

Her mother regarded her silently for a moment, waiting for her to go on. Finally, she asked, "Is something wrong, Padme? Are you healthy?"

Padme flashed her mother a quick smile.

"I'm fine," she assured her, then prompted by a firm kick, she put her hand on the baby and amended it to, "_We're_ fine."

"Then what is wrong?" her mother asked her. "I know you, Padme. You wouldn't have kept your secret for so long, only to break it now for no good reason. Maybe after the baby came, but not before. Something has happened, hasn't it?"

"Oh, Mom," Padme whispered.

Her mother hugged her tightly.

"Tell me," she said.

Padme sighed heavily.

"Is Dad home?" she asked. They would both need to know.

------

When she had finished explaining, her parents both sat for a moment in stunned silence. Finally, her father asked, "And these children are still on the ship?"

"Yes," she said. "But they can't stay there much longer. It's not so much that they can't sleep in a tight situation, but there's only one fresher."

Her father nodded, then said, "Why don't you go on, with them, to the lake country? Your mother and I can follow tomorrow; that will give us time to let Sola know what's going on and get the girls ready. You weren't keeping it a secret that you were heading there, were you?"

"No," she said. "I'd intended to go there to have the baby originally anyway. I've just left a bit early. The children are the only ones being smuggled."

"Are you planning on reporting to the queen first?" asked her mother.

Padme was shocked. She had actually not even thought of it, yet it was her job; it was part of what the queen depended on her for: to keep her informed of what was going on in the republic. And it would be something others would expect her to do. How could she have forgotten?

"Don't tell me you've actually forgotten about it?" her mother asked.

"Mom, I ..." she began to defend herself uncertainly.

"Oh, Padme, I wasn't scolding you. I just think you've taken too much on yourself."

"No, Mom, you're right, I needed to stay," she said distractedly. What was it Anakin had told her, just before he'd left? That the Jedi were on their way to ask Palpatine to relinquish his powers? Shouldn't she have stayed to witness his reaction to the request? But if she had, what about the children? Who would have gotten them out? Anakin? No, he'd never have left without her; besides, he was going after the Separatist leaders. Only none of this was something concrete; none of it was something she could reasonably report to the queen.

"What's on the holovid?" she finally asked in desperation.

Her mother raised her eyebrows, but switched it on anyway. Padme stared at the news announcer, expecting to hear - one way or the other - the outcome of the Jedis' meeting with the chancellor. Either he would reveal himself to all as a Sith Lord, as Anakin had foreseen in his visions, or he would have renounced his powers by now. Either way, they should hardly stop talking about it in the news.

But the program displayed nothing whatsoever out of the ordinary. Bewildered, she took the controls and changed the channel. Still nothing.

"That doesn't make any sense," she murmured to herself.

Her father looked at her out of the corner of his eye.

"Why don't we get going?" he said. "The queen can wait. I'll walk you back to the ship. You need to get the children settled in as soon as possible."

Padme turned to her father, stricken. Didn't he believe her? Didn't he believe in Anakin's vision? Did she? And if this one, then why not that other, the one he'd had three months before, the night he'd returned from the Outer Reaches? Could she reasonably believe one and deny the other? Was she going to ... would she ... die when the baby was born?

"Padme," said her father gently, interrupting her thoughts. "Anakin was trying to prevent what happened in his vision from coming true. Isn't that right? Isn't that the reason you brought the Jedi children here with you?"

She nodded, though still upset and distracted.

"Then," he went on, "if you can't find evidence of his vision coming true in the holovid, isn't it possible that what you're both doing is working?"

She looked away, her eyes hot and her chest strained, feeling as if she were going to burst into tears.

"Dad," she managed to say with iron control - she would _not_ cry - "that's not ... it's ..." _wishful thinking,_ she mentally finished when her voice failed her.

"Padme," he tried again. "You said the Jedi had gone to ask Chancellor Palpatine to give up his emergency powers. Why, then, is there nothing about it in the news? Something is definitely wrong, just not the same thing Anakin saw happen. Think! The Jedi are gifted with special abilities. What good would they be - what good would having a vision of some catastrophe in the future be, if it were impossible to change it?"

She looked up at him and rubbed her eyes. Did she really dare to hope that everything would work out? She'd been continuously terrified since Anakin had collapsed in front of her; maybe even long before then, if she allowed herself to admit it. Terrified that their life together was about to end, that they were about to be destroyed, as he had predicted they would be, long ago. But maybe ... the future could be changed before it happened. She nodded to her father decisively.

He smiled and sighed.

"Let's hurry, then and get you off to the lake country. Your mother can call Sola in the meanwhile, and we'll be along as soon as we can."

The started for the door, but Padme turned back to her mother before they got there.

"Mom, remember, don't ..."

"Don't worry," her mother said, "I won't reveal any details over the holophone."

Padme smiled, and left on her father's arm.


	7. Chapter 7

Obiwan checked the chronometer; the lightspeed indicator told him he was nearly to the drop point near Mustafar. And not a moment too soon, so far as he was concerned. He'd spent the whole of the voyage trying to make sense of the fragments of information Anakin had told him - no, that was too well thought out for what he had been doing - he'd been literally wracking his mind over for any clue whatsoever to what had happened to his friend to bring him to that state. He knew it was un-Jedilike for him to worry, but hadn't been able to stop himself for more than a few moments at a time. He'd seen Anakin three days ago when he'd left for Utapau, and he'd been convinced at that time that his friend was truly learning to be the Jedi Obiwan had always known he could become. His outburst in the council chamber, while regrettable, had been the first he'd had in over a year, and he had acknowledged his mistake without any prompting. Give him ten years, Obiwan thought, and he really would be one of the wisest Jedi living.

But if Anakin were correct about the chancellor, he did not have ten years to learn to be perfect before fulfilling his destiny. And, unfortunately, even though he'd said he had no proof of the chancellor's guilt, Obiwan believed him. He had simply been too protective and defensive of the chancellor in the past to make such an accusation now without being firmly convinced of its truth. A chilling guilt he didn't like (but had to face) crept over him as he realized he'd not simply allowed, but encouraged, the chancellor to be a father figure to his young padawan. Of course, the council had encouraged it as well, but as Anakin's master it was his duty, not the council's, to train him well. Had he unknowingly handed his padawan over to a Sith?

Such thinking was definitely not productive, as it contributed nothing to the problem at hand. While it would have cost Anakin deeply to admit that the chancellor, whom he thought a friend, was really his enemy, it would hardly bring him to the verge of what amounted to a breakdown.

Obiwan paused in his thinking. Perhaps he was overanalyzing the conversation, and worrying too much again. Anakin might have been distracted for any variety of reasons that had nothing to do with what was being said. But as he acknowledged the flashing yellow light that indicated he'd reached his destination, he still could not get out of his mind the agonizing cry his former student had uttered, in response to nothing but some unknown thought in his mind.

------

Anakin's fighter, canopy standing open, was clearly visible to Obiwan on the upper hardstand of the mining outpost as he came in for his approach.

_He didn't wait,_ he thought with trepidation, although he'd had small hope that his distressed friend had really been listening to him. Still, he saw no battle droids approaching; in fact, he didn't see any evidence that any part of the war had come here at all. He wondered anew about Anakin's assertion that the Separatist leaders had gathered here. Hadn't he just seen them on Utapau? True, he'd seen them leave that planet just before he'd engaged Grievous, but there could barely have been enough time for them to have arrived on Mustafar.

Obiwan allowed himself to relax slightly. Anakin must have been mistaken. But at least he had waited here for him after discovering that his information had been wrong.

------

He touched down and popped his canopy open. A wave of heat blasted him, as did the nauseating odor of sulfur. The breathable air, however, was adequate, no doubt kept that way by the perimeter shielding. Across a lava-filled ravine he could see three enormous shield generators cantilevered out from the administration complex. As with all entirely automated outposts, the shields were permanently set to allow spacecraft to freely enter and exit.

A short flight of steps took him to the upper hardstand where Anakin's fighter was parked with its back to him. As he approached, he saw that the pilot had never left the cockpit. Nor had its astromech droid been released. Artoo's head swiveled around to regard him as he neared, emitting a low, mournful sounding _whhooooo-oo._

"Anakin?"

His friend sat behind the controls of the fighter, staring straight ahead at something only he could see, agony written on his face, his body slightly rocking back and forth. Obiwan climbed up onto the wing, reached inside and clasped him by the shoulder. Anakin shuddered visibly, and as he turned to regard his visitor, a sob broke free and Obiwan could see that he had been openly crying.

"Anakin, what is wrong?" he asked gently. "The Separatists ..."

"I locked them in," was the near-whispered reply.

"What?"

Confused, Obiwan glanced behind him at the building complex. What Anakin had said made no sense; it was impossible, even for a Jedi, to lock a building without knowing in advance where all the locks were.

"I know where everything is," his former padawan assured him, his soft voice like gravel. "Right now they're trying to cut through the door to the hangar bay." 

The younger man's eyes, though reddened and tear-stained, were momentarily lucent. Obiwan forced his own mind to clear enough to search the complex for a living presence. It didn't take him long to feel the small group huddled together inside, though the fear they collectively projected seemed small and puny next to the overwhelming pain the man next to him was broadcasting. He turned back to Anakin, but the question on his lips went unasked when he saw the other man's eyes had lost their focus once again, their gaze turned on some internal horror.

Anakin's eyes closed and his mouth worked soundlessly for a moment.

"I killed her," he finally managed to choke. The words hung in the empty silence.

_Her._ Anakin could only be talking about one person, Obiwan knew: Senator Padme Amidala of Naboo, who had fascinated Anakin since the day he'd first met her; fascinated him in a way entirely inappropriate for a Jedi. He knew Anakin still saw her; knew they were friends; trusted the young senator, whom he considered eminently sensible, to keep their relationship strictly platonic. In fact, he thought the friendship had a stabilizing influence on his former padawan.

But the statement he'd just heard, along with the obvious emotional disturbance of the man who'd said it, terrified him. He'd gone to see Padme himself just before leaving for Utapau, hoping she could give Anakin a shoulder to lean on while he was gone; he knew Anakin needed one to help him handle the odious assignment the council had given him. It was the first time he'd seen her in over a year and he'd been surprised to discover that she must have married sometime since their mission to protect her; she was in the late stages of expecting a child. Could this somehow have pushed Anakin over the edge? Had he killed her in a moment of jealous rage?

No, that wasn't right. His inner sense told him that it was, in fact, completely wrong. What, then?

"Do you mean Senator Amidala?" he asked in confusion.

The reply startled him.

"I killed her here," Anakin whispered.

"Here?" Obiwan inquired, partly enlightened. "On Mustafar?"

In reply, Anakin began to cry deep, gasping sobs, his face a mask of sheer hopelessness and despair.

"Anakin!" The older man put the power of the Force behind his voice, hoping it would help get his friend's attention, and grasped him by both shoulders. "Has this happened yet?"

Forced to make eye contact with his old master, Anakin appeared to gather himself somewhat.

"It will," he said quietly, his voice rising as he went on, "I saw myself ... I saw myself join the Sith, Obiwan. I killed them; all of them. I killed her. I tried to kill you. Here."

"No," said the master. "If it hasn't happened, you are not committed to the choice. It doesn't have to be that way."

"She's going to die," the younger man went on.

"Not if you don't make that choice!"

"It doesn't matter," he wailed. "She'll die no matter what I do."

"You don't know that."

"I had the first dream three months ago," Anakin informed him, his eyes losing all their unfocused appearance as they bored hopelessly into Obiwan's. "She'll die in childbirth and I can't do anything to save her."

He choked and looked away.

"I can't live without her," he moaned.

Obiwan sat silently on his haunches, still on the wing of the fighter, shaken less at the content of what he'd heard Anakin say than he was at the revelation he thought he'd just heard.

"Anakin," he said quietly, "Is Senator Amidala's baby ... are you the father?"

How could he not have known this; seen this?

Yet his former student nodded.

"We've been married for three years," he admitted in a half-whisper. "I resigned from the order yesterday. I'm no longer a Jedi."


	8. Chapter 8

The sudden release of relief made him weak; had he been standing, his knees would have given way. He hadn't realized how much strain he had been under from the weight of the lie; telling Obiwan made him literally able to breathe again, as if a tight band across his chest had abruptly been loosened. He exhaled sharply, breathing in deeply with great gulps of the pungent air.

But he could not stop crying. Part of the tears now were tears of release, of finally being able to tell his friend the truth after all this time. But most were still for his dark soul, for knowing he was capable of unspeakable acts, and for his lost life, the one he'd wanted to live with his wife and children. Was it so selfish of him to want that? No need to ask; he knew the answer; he knew the depths of selfishness to which he was willing to go to get it. Though it would still all come to nothing in the end.

That was worst of all, knowing that the only thing that stopped him from doing those unspeakable things was the knowledge that they would not work. Knowing did not make him a better person; it only made him a better informed one. He swallowed.

"Tell me," Obiwan's voice said suddenly in his ear, still well-modulated and perfectly enunciated, although he could hear a huskiness in it he recognized as an emotional display.

He took a deep breath, intending to honor the request, but something he felt in the complex suddenly drew his attention.

"They're about to cut through the door," he said instead. With an automatic gesture born of long practice, he reached up to unclasp his cloak for battle. But midway through the gesture, he stopped.

"What is it?" Obiwan asked, concern in his voice.

"I can't fight them," he answered. But deep down in his gutted soul, he realized with the perfect clarity of total despair - close to total selflessness in effect, though essentially dark in practice - that he didn't have to. The solution was so obvious, so simple, he did not want to think of all the lives that had been lost by its not being used in the past.

"Anakin, if this is about not being a Jedi, now is not the time to ..."

"No," he said as he released Artoo and stepped down from the cockpit. He faced Obiwan squarely. "The Separatists aren't armed."

"They have battle droids," his master replied, but Anakin had already turned away, striding across the tarmac towards the hangar bay.

"It won't matter," he answered as Obiwan scrambled to follow him.

Artoo trailed not far behind.

------

Obiwan hurried to catch up with the impulsive Anakin, now striding purposefully away towards the hangar on his long legs, long black cloak billowing out behind him. His mind reeled with the information he'd had to assimilate in the last few minutes; but he forced his many questions aside, trying to focus on the matter at hand.

_Surely he couldn't be serious about not fighting?__Or_ - the thought came to Obiwan suddenly, like ice water poured down his spine - _surely he didn't intend to let them kill him_. Anakin's despair was a palpable thing; it radiated from him like a halo of darkness._ I don't know if I can save him and take this outpost at the same time,_ he thought desperately; then, with a deep breath, he centered himself in the Force. Such thoughts were pointless and served no useful purpose. He was here. He would do as he must.

The hangar bay was not large, but had been sufficient, barely, to house the Separatist leaders' transport. The ship itself was dark, the engines cold. But though they had not yet completely cut through from inside the complex, the door was red-hot from the cutting torch. A hole began to appear in it and a blaster bolt fired at him.

Obiwan easily blocked it with his lightsaber, glancing uneasily at Anakin, whose blade remained undrawn. _Please don't let him kill himself, _he couldn't stop himself from thinking. But his former padawan did not offer himself as a target. Instead, as Obiwan watched, he raised his hand ...

The still-red cut metal of the door ripped aside with a terrible shriek, flying free of the doorway. Framed in it were three battle droids; many more were behind them; all were armed and ready to fire. But as Obiwan stared at them, lightsaber at the ready, the entire platoon went dark, their heads lolled, and their postures sagged. They had been collectively shut down.

He glanced at Anakin curiously, seeing for the first time the unrelenting determination in his friend's profile, in the firm jaw and set lips; feeling, for the first time, the terrible potential of what it meant to be the Chosen One. A small prick of fear tickled the back of his neck as Anakin's outstretched hand pushed at the air and the shut-down droids clattered to the floor of the room behind where they'd been, no longer blocking the doorway. Obiwan took a deep breath. He was here. He would do as he must. He started to move forward.

"Be careful, that wasn't all of them," his dark friend warned.

"You didn't shut them all down?"

"I have to see them first," came the reply.

Obiwan wasn't sure whether he should be worried about the remaining battle droids or glad to hear about the limitation. He entered the service building carefully, lightsaber still ignited, and with what felt like the fate of the universe dressed in black at his side.


	9. Chapter 9

"You have no right to break in here and attack us!"

Nute Gunray's voice quavered as he spoke, belying his indignant bravado. Anakin had dispatched the few remaining droids in the same manner as the first. The Separatists were backed up into a corner and, except for their leader, all cowered under Obiwan's lightsaber and Anakin's stare.

Obiwan was about to march them all out to their transport, under arrest, when he heard Anakin's soft voice say quietly, "You've been deceived." Gunray opened his mouth in further protest, but Anakin kept talking, though his voice grew no louder, "Lord Sidious is using you to manipulate the galactic senate. He and Chancellor Palpatine are one and the same."

"Sidious, the chancellor?" Gunray demanded. "That's ridiculous! The chancellor commands the clone army! He'd be fighting himself!"

"He is," Anakin assured him evenly in the same hushed tone. "He has created an artificial war. When his generals are all dead, he will kill you as well and turn the clones against the Jedi."

Obiwan forced himself to remain impassive while he reeled inwardly from the statement. _Turn the clones against the Jedi?_ But the generals _were _all dead; he'd just killed the last one. _Did that mean ...?_ He saw several of the Separatists glancing uneasily at each other.

Nute Gunray, however, chose to hear only what he wanted to hear.

"Turn the clones against the Jedi?" he echoed, making a forced attempt to laugh. "Too bad you didn't bring some of them with you, ha-ha!"

"Artoo," Anakin said, not turning his attention away from the group, "Stop jamming their transmission signals and see if you can re-set their communications system to receive without sending. It should be possible if it's already set that way from the other end. Record everything when it comes up."

Artoo whistled and plugged himself into their holocomm.

"What do you mean, set that way from the other end?" Gunray demanded, still belligerant.

"I mean if Palpatine has his holocomm set up so it can spy on you without you knowing about it, then the system can be re-set to spy on him without him knowing about it."

"_If_ it's really Palpatine you are talking about!" Gunray insisted. "I'm not convinced it is."

Artoo burbled a few gurgling noises and a fuzzy image on the holocomm table appeared and began to flicker. After a few moments it resolved itself into the interior of the chancellor's office. Palpatine sat quietly at his desk, viewing some schematic hologram on his computer.

"It's a trick!" Gunray continued with his denial.

The chancellor glanced up suddenly, as if in response to Gunray's comment, speculatively regarding the air in his office.

"He can hear us!" one of the others stage-whispered fearfully.

"No, I don't think so," Obiwan reflected, turning to his partner to continue, "But I suspect he is aware of us."

"Turn it off!" someone in the back panicked.

"It wouldn't matter," Obiwan told them. "He's sensing us through the Force, not the holocomm." To Anakin, he said, "Can he tell where we are?"

"I don't know," was the short answer.

He might have said more, but at that moment, Palpatine pushed a button on the arm of his chair and said, "Captain Morgan, could you come in here a moment?"

After a short moment, a clone entered his office, his helmet carried in his hand.

"Yes, sir," he said.

The chancellor switched off his computer projection, stood up, and smiled, his eyes sweeping the room with self-satisfaction.

"Captain Morgan," he said, turning to the clone, "The time has come to execute Order 66. I want you to take a battalion of clones to the Jedi temple. Kill everyone inside, including the padawans and younglings. If you need reinforcements, have them sent in as well."

"Yes, sir," the clone replied, then did an about face and marched away.

"No!" Anakin breathed, echoing Obiwan's numbed thought: _He's doing it. I can't believe he's really, actually doing it!_ He felt like his chest was being crushed, as no doubt his friend did, to judge by his expression. Like the Separatists, he hadn't fully believed it until he'd heard the chancellor say it. He doubted Anakin had completely believed it, either. Or had he? He'd worn the same despairing expression since he'd found him here; could Obiwan only be imagining it had grown worse?

Suddenly realizing that he was woolgathering (_you're going to get yourself killed that way, Obiwan!_), he noticed the Separatists staring in horror at the holocomm display. Another clone now stood in Palpatine's office, and the chancellor was in the middle of issuing instructions to him.

"... When you've killed all the Separatist leaders, report back to me," he was ordering.

Even Gunray remained silent as the clone departed. Palpatine silently watched him go, that same small smile playing on his lips. Then he reached behind his head and pulled the cowl of his robe over his head and down over his eyes and nose.

At this Gunray made an unintelligible noise accompanied by a chorus of gasps from his compatriots.

"Sidious!" he finally managed to force out.

At the same time, Anakin ordered, "Artoo. Shut it off."

The holograms vanished and the table went dark.

"Set the receiver to a narrow field of view," he instructed. "Then return to the ship."

"You have to save us!" Gunray ordered, terrified, apparently forgetting he'd been calling for their deaths moments before. He opened his mouth to say more, but the light chime of the holocomm stopped him, freezing them all into silence. It chimed again.

"Answer it," Obiwan told Gunray.

The Viceroy of the Trade Federation took one look at the readout and blanched.

"It's him! It's Sidious!" he cried fearfully.

"Then you'd better make it look good," suggested Obiwan as he backed away from the microphone.

Gunray gasped, frozen with panic. But he was standing in the right place for the exchange, Obiwan noted. Sensing too much delay was about to go by, he Force-pushed the receive button. A hologram of the Sith Lord's head and shoulders appeared on the table.

"Viceroy Gunray," Sidious purred, "How pleasant to see you. I trust you are well."

"Y ... Yes, Lord Sidious," a startled Gunray managed to croak.

"The end of the war is near, Viceroy," the Sith Lord continued. "I am sending a company of clones to Mustafar to take care of you."

Gunray stared at him in shock, then glanced surreptitiously at Obiwan, who waved him back to Sidious and pointed meaningfully at the holographic figure: _Answer him!_

"Than ... Thank you, Lord Sidious," he finally managed to say.

The connection broke from the chancellor's side.

The Separatists all began clamoring at once, lamenting their betrayal and begging to be saved. Distracted by the commotion, Obiwan nearly missed Anakin's departure.

"I have to go," his friend told him in a voice so soft he wondered if his former padawan had once again ceased to be aware of what was going on around him. "I'll see you on Coruscant."

Then he was gone, leaving Obiwan alone with the Separatists.


	10. Chapter 10

_Author's Note: _ Thank you to everyone for your comments and/or for adding me to your alerts or favorite lists. This story is actually completely finished; it's just taking me a bit to re-format it for this site (the whole thing is in one document instead of separate chapter documents, and I can't help tweaking it again before putting it up). At this rate, I should (hopefully) be able to post at least a chapter a night, maybe two on weekend nights. Thank you again for reading!

* * *

Anakin had just made the jump to hyperspace when he felt it - a sharp weight on his chest, pain stabbing his heart. He gasped for air; for a moment he couldn't breathe. _Death ... death ... _

"No!" he screamed into the cockpit, casting his mind out in panic, terrified of the void he might find, a yawning pit in his soul. But her presence was there; still there. He focused his tortured mind upon it, breathing deeply; drawing peace and serenity from knowing she was safe and still lived. He knew then it was the Jedi whose death he had felt. He would be too late to save the ones in the temple ... _too late ..._

------

He brought the ship out of hyperspace early. The clones ... in the space around Coruscant they would be looking for Jedi as the enemy. Although he had technically left the order, he was still in a Jedi fighter. How could he approach the planet? How?

He thought furiously, vainly trying to keep the thought of being too late out of his mind: _They're dying, they're dying! You're never going to make it; it's too late already! They'll all be dead by now! STOP IT!_

Tears blurred his vision and his breath came in ragged gulps.

_Think! THINK!_

The transmitter glowed eerily in the phosphorescent light of his control panel. Was it the Force telling him to use it, or was it his imagination? He couldn't think! Surely it was impossible to hear the voice of the Force; he was too terrified ...

His hand slammed down on the transmit button without conscious thought. For a moment he remained silent. Then ...

"Emer ... emergency code nine ... nine thirteen," he forced from his lungs. His teeth began to chatter and he fell silent, not trusting his voice. But the line stayed open.

A scrambled hologram wavered on his console, then resolved as the computer decoded the encryption, one unique to the Jedi.

"Senator Organa?" he asked, surprised. Some unwanted dream-memory of the senator seeped in through the back of his mind. He pushed it firmly away, trying to lock it out. Senator Organa was one of the few politicians he trusted. But could he afford to? He had trusted Palpatine ...

The memory crept farther in and he saw there was no deception in it, no reason not to trust him. Quite the opposite - rather that he had done nothing to earn the senator's trust, not for the ..._ NO! I don't want to know!_ But it was too late ...

Anakin wept for what was - would be - lost. And blessed Bail Organa for the gift.

------

The three of them sat in the briefing room on the Tantive IV. They had just finished watching the recording of Palpatine's betrayal of the republic Skywalker had brought with him, stored in his astro droid. But for a long while, none of them spoke.

At last, Master Yoda broke the silence.

"Unexpected this was," the old master said. "Blinded by the dark side to his deceit we were. Too late it now may be."

"No," came a half-whisper from the third person at the table. Skywalker had been sitting through all of it, though to Bail's eyes he had not appeared to be paying any attention to his surroundings. His face remained buried in his hands, fingers pulling at his hair. It had taken some pointed words punctuated with a jab to the ribs with Yoda's cane to even coax him out of the seat of his fighter. Bail had been shocked by the young Jedi's appearance; he looked ill - there was no color in his face and his eyes had a sunken, hollow look, as if he hadn't slept in days. But now he repeated, his voice growing stronger, "No. I won't let it happen. It will not be too late."

"Know this you cannot," Master Yoda replied softly. "Strong enough to defeat this Lord Sidious you are not, not yet."

"We do not have time to wait," Skywalker argued reasonably, "And you are not strong enough, either, Master Yoda. I have seen your battle with him. He will purposely drive you to anger, and you will have to withdraw."

The wizened master considered this for a moment, then replied, "You he will also in this way fight. More of a danger for you it is."

Skywalker replied by reaching down and unhooking his lightsaber from his belt. Using both hands, he presented it ceremonially to Master Yoda.

"I am no longer a Jedi," he declared solemnly. "I gave the council members present my resignation ... yesterday ..." - he faltered, unsure of how much time had passed - "... or maybe two days ago. Now I formally resign."

The old master continued to regard Skywalker, but said nothing; nor did he reach out to take the weapon. Finally, he said, "The dark side not only Jedi tempts."

Skywalker set his lightsaber down on the table, stood up, and walked across the room. He stopped in front of the bulkhead, his back to them.

"It is already too late for me," he said ominously. "I have nothing left to lose. She will die no matter what course I take."

Master Yoda dropped his gaze and said nothing.

"She?" asked Bail, confused by the sudden turn of conversation.

"My wife," he said simply, glancing over at the Jedi master without turning around. He looked back at the wall and continued, "I've been married for three years. My resignation was late."

Bail knew marriage - or attachment of any kind - was forbidden by the Jedi code. Yet he felt more wonder than surprise to discover Skywalker's transgression. The young Jedi had always seemed to him less reserved and more personable than the others he had met. And - though he didn't know why - it oddly comforted him to know that the Jedi, for all their abilities, were still people, with feelings of their own.

"Master Yoda," Skywalker began hopefully, though as if he feared to hear the answer, "If I succeed, will ... will my children survive?"

_Children?_

The ancient Jedi closed his eyes a moment in meditation. But when he opened them, all he said was, "Impossible to say. Clouded by the dark side the future is."

Skywalker turned his head away, but Bail could see tears sparkling in his eyes.

"Forgive me," the senator said, "But why only if he succeeds?"

With a glance towards Skywalker, Master Yoda replied, "Needed to fulfill the prophecy they will be, if succeed he does not. The Force itself preserve them will. The Chosen One he is - who balance to the Force will bring."

The senator looked up at the Chosen One, who stood in mute agony, staring at the air in front of him. _He can't lose his children,_ he thought. _Especially if he is this Chosen One, how could the Force use him so callously?_

"On Coruscant is Senator Amidala?" Master Yoda inquired.

Bail almost turned to answer, when he saw Skywalker shake his head.

"She's already gone to Naboo," he said. "She wanted to have the baby ... the ... twins there."

He turned around. "Master Yoda, she'll die in childbirth. Is there nothing that can be done to save her?"

_Padme_ was Skywalker's secret wife! A knot began to form in Bail's throat. The young senator was a good friend, but it was the face of his own dear wife which suddenly filled his thoughts. His own wife, as she had looked six years before, when their child had been born ... and had not survived. His wife had also nearly ...

He broke off the thought. She was fine now; she had survived, if they would no longer have any children of their own. He looked up at Skywalker, who had closed his eyes in pain at Master Yoda's negation.

"If natural her death is, prevented it cannot be," the old master told him gently.

They were abruptly interrupted by a message from Captain Antilles. Bail flicked the comm switch.

"Your Highness, a message is coming through to you from the chancellor's office."

"Put it through," Bail instructed. They all listened as Mas Amedda invited the senator to a special session of congress. "A trap?" he asked when the image had blinked off.

"No," said Skywalker dully. "He intends to use the session to accuse the Jedi of trying to take over the republic. That will give him the excuse he needs to justify killing them."

Master Yoda looked thoughtful.

"If a special session of congress there is, easier to enter the Jedi Temple it will be," he remarked.

Skywalker nodded at the comment, but said, "I will go to the congressional building with Senator Organa. Once the senate convenes, I should be able to make it to his office and wait for him there."

Master Yoda gave a small nudge to the younger man's lightsaber.

"Need your lightsaber you will," he said.

Skywalker stared at it for a long moment, his face unreadable. At last he said, "No. I can't take a weapon. I can't defeat him that way."

To Bail's surprise, Master Yoda did not argue the statement. For awhile, they sat in silence. The senator was nearly ready to excuse himself from the table, when Master Yoda spoke.

"If succeed you do not, Anakin," he promised the younger man somberly, "protect your children from the Sith Lord I will. Hidden where he cannot find them they will be."

"I know," he whispered without looking up.

"I will also do whatever I can," Bail told him. He wanted to add that he would gladly take the children if they were orphaned, but could think of no polite way to convey his intent.

Skywalker looked up momentarily. Though he said nothing, he regarded the senator with a look of such hopeless dignity and cherished acknowledgment that Bail somehow realized the young Jedi had already known his thoughts.


	11. Chapter 11

Author's Note: Today is a holiday where I live (Thanksgiving), so I had time to edit two chapters while I waited for my feast to cook. Happy Thanksgiving if you are celebrating it too!

* * *

"I can't get over how well-behaved they all are," Sola exclaimed in a hushed tone. "Even the littlest ones."

They were all eating in the great dining hall of the lake resort. Padme's parents had arrived with Sola and her family just as the sun had begun to set. It had been obvious from Sola's reaction to seeing her that their mother had already told her the news about Anakin and the baby. Her first words to Padme had been "I told you so," delivered with a knowing smirk. She might have continued with the teasing, but at that first comment, their father had given her sister what they referred to as "The Look," which, oddly, stopped Sola cold. It was so out-of-character that Padme wondered what had passed between them about her before they'd arrived.

Padme glanced cursorily over the crowd of Jedi younglings. They were quiet for children their age, she acknowledged. Not that they sat perfectly still and ate like little droids; some fidgeted a bit in their seats (especially the youngest group), and virtually all of them talked to their neighbors. But the talking was conducted in a quiet, adult way, as if they had all been trained into behavior much older than their actual ages. She had only to look at her two nieces for the contrast: the girls were not badly behaved, but they were unable to suppress a tendency to constantly giggle, and they squirmed in their seats restlessly, kept there by the rules of their parents, not their own self-mastery.

"Was Anakin like that?" Sola inquired innocently.

Padme looked at her sister. She knew she was fishing for information, but really couldn't blame her. And she knew she'd have to talk about it sometime.

"He was never one of them," she replied.

Her sister regarded her quizzically.

"Anakin wasn't born in the republic," Padme explained. "They didn't find him until he was almost ten."

Sola raised her eyebrows.

"How did they find him, then?" she asked. "Do you know?"

Padme stopped in the act of lifting her fork to her mouth, and set it back down on the plate. She realized she had all her family's attention now, so after swallowing a bite of food, she said, "It was when I was queen and the Jedi got me off the planet. The hyperdrive broke down and we had to make an emergency landing on Tatooine."

"He's from Tatooine?" her sister asked incredulously. The planet was infamous for being the headquarters of the Hutts, a galactic crime syndicate who specialized in the procurement of narcotic spice and slaves; a place where the cities were virtually lawless and the only honest folk not indentured to the criminal set were the moisture farmers in the desert wilds, iron-willed pioneers determined enough to wrestle crops from the endless dunes and tough enough to stand up to the scattered but viciously violent native nomads.

"Yes," she confirmed, hoping that would end the matter, but it was too late.

"Well, how did they find him, dear?" her mother asked curiously.

"He was working in the shop where they went to get a replacement part for the hyperdrive."

"Working in a shop?" Sola demanded. "At age ten?"

"Tatooine has slavery," her father observed. Padme had been undecided about whether she should reveal Anakin's former status to them; his statement effectively solved her dilemma.

"Is that true?" her mother asked, her eyes round. "Was he a slave?"

"Yes, Mother, he was," she confirmed, deliberately attacking the food on her plate.

"Oh, but ..." Jobal began hesitantly, "well, was he ... I mean ... could he ... read, or anything?"

Padme looked up, almost relieved to finally be able to give a positive answer about her husband's past.

"Yes, he could read and do calculations, and so far as I know, was not behind at all in his schooling," she said. "His mother taught him."

There followed more questions about his mother's status (yes, she had been a slave, but she'd been bought out of slavery later by a man who loved her), his father (no, she didn't know who his father had been; whoever he was, he'd seemed long gone by the time they'd arrived on the planet), and whether his mother knew about their marriage or the coming baby.

"No, she died before we were married," Padme answered curtly. Then, deciding she'd been too dismissive, she told them the story of Shmi's death, although she carefully edited out any mention of Anakin's loss of control. "He didn't understand what the dreams meant until it was too late," she explained. "And he couldn't forgive himself. That's the main reason they're" - she nodded towards the younglings - "here now. He had a vision in a dream that they'd be in danger if they stayed at the temple, or even anywhere on Coruscant."

At last they fell silent, though Padme acknowledged that it was probably with shock rather than lack of further questions. It had certainly upset her to tell the story; she could feel the hot tears swimming in her eyes. She blinked them away and stared down at her plate, but the rest of her food just stared mutely back up at her.

_He had that vision of you dying in childbirth, too,_ she told herself grimly. _As ridiculous as it sounds in this day and age, you can't dismiss it like you want to._ But there didn't seem to be any way to prevent it, either.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and started to push her plate away, but was interrupted by a commotion among the younglings. One of the older ones, a thin, dark-haired boy with a too-white face, jumped abruptly up from the table, cries erupting from the formerly hushed conversation around him, and shot out the door.

Padme was on her feet in an instant, after him, her mother's cries of "No, Padme, wait! I'll go ..." fading behind her.

------

He was standing in the grass at the far edge of the terrace, losing the last of his dinner. Padme pulled up short, a couple of meters behind him, belatedly unsure of whether she should approach, not so much because of queasiness - she was surprisingly, given her condition, not in the least bit nauseated by his illness - but because she suddenly wondered if he'd prefer being sick in private. Looking back, she saw that none of the other children had followed him, although her mother was rapidly approaching them.

"I'm sorry," she heard him say quietly, realizing he knew she was there.

_Of course he knows,_ it dawned on her. _He's a Jedi, not just some ordinary child._ Out loud she said, "Don't be sorry. It happens sometimes. Are you all right now?"

He shook his head, folding his arms tightly across his stomach, his back still turned to her. She could hear his labored breathing.

Her mother reached her side, glared at Padme momentarily, then reached out and lightly brushed the boy's shoulder.

"Come on," she said to him, "Why don't we go to the infirmary?"

He nodded and turned to go with her. Jobal looked back at her daughter and said, "Go on back in the dining hall. I'll be back in a little while."

------

By the time her mother returned, Padme and her father had retired to the salon. Sola and her husband were busy tucking in the girls and all but the oldest of the younglings had been packed off to their bunks. The older ones sat in a circle in the outer room, apparently playing some quiet game. Jobal eyed them curiously as she walked up to Padme and sat down.

"Didn't any of them ask about him?" she inquired.

Padme sighed.

"No," she said. "It's not something they do; they're taught to help out if they can, but to understand when they can't help and to not worry about it."

Jobal sighed and pursed her lips.

"What_ was_ wrong with him?" Padme finally asked, having given up waiting for her mother to volunteer the information. "Is he all right now? Could the med droids do anything?"

"They said nothing was wrong with him," she replied, "except that he was under stress."

"Stress?"

"Yes," her mother verified. "I'd have stayed with him, but he told me he'd rather be alone for the moment." Padme could tell she meant it as a warning to keep her away from him.

Her mother faced her squarely, her expression grave.

"Padme," she began, "I know you are used to running to everyone's rescue; that's how you've been since you were able to walk. But you're pregnant now; you have to think of the baby. Suppose that boy had something contagious? It might hurt the baby's health a lot more than it would do to an adult, or even a ten-year-old. Can you see that?"

Jolted, Padme did see it, but from a different perspective than her mother could have imagined. _Is it something like that he saw? Some illness that will take me when the baby is born?_ But she couldn't imagine any contagious disease quite like that. Certainly it wasn't the sort of thing her mother was warning her against; that would be something that would only affect the baby, and Anakin had said the baby would survive. Hadn't he? Or had that been when he'd passed out on her?

"I'm going to go outside for a moment," she said. Maybe she could think more clearly with the fresh air blowing in her face.

She stopped just outside the door and let the cool breeze from the lake wash over her. It was time she calmed down and stopped obsessing over something she had no control over. If it were her time to go, then she would go; there was no sense wasting the few weeks she had left in worrying over it. Also - and this was far harder for her to accept - if their baby was not meant to survive, there was nothing that could be done about that, either.

The last thought brought tears to her eyes, not the least because the baby had virtually started to pound against her, apparently with both hands and both feet. Not for the first time, it seemed to her that it - he (it hadn't escaped her that Anakin had referred to their baby as a "he" right after telling her about a vision he'd had) - seemed to be responding directly to her thoughts.

"Are you trying to tell me something, Luke?" she whispered, using the boy's name they had both picked out. _Thump, thump._ She smiled. "That you're going to be okay?" More thumping followed. One jab in particular hit her just beneath the keel of her breastbone, knocking against the small pendant she wore there, concealed beneath her dress. She reached up to the chain and drew it out. It was the jappor snippet her husband had given her to remember him by when he was nine, just before they'd been parted for ten years. _I guess that means yes,_ she thought, squeezing her hot eyes shut and holding her breath against a sob, the pendent clenched tightly in her fist.

After a moment, she took a deep breath and calmed herself, comforted by the imagined message sent by her unborn son. She wiped her eyes and had started to go back inside when she noticed the small, thin figure standing by the railing at the end of the terrace, staring out over the lake. It was the youngling her mother had taken to the infirmary.

As she drew near to him, she saw that he was staring not at the lake, but upwards at the star-strewn sky.

"There are so many of them," he commented. "You can't see this many on Coruscant."

"You can't see hardly any of them on Coruscant," she agreed. "There are too many lights on the planet."

He was silent for a moment. Then he asked, "Can you see Coruscant from here?"

She looked at the sky, trying to remember the constellations from her childhood. Overhead was the Great Crescent, and coming up beside it was the Gungan Fool, a group of hot blue stars on the outer rim defining his left ear.

"It's below the horizon at night this time of year," she finally told him. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him how he felt when he suddenly turned to her.

"The med droid said I was under stress," he said.

"Yes, I know," she replied softly.

"Jedi don't get stressed."

It occurred to her to say that med droids didn't get stressed either, so how would they know anything about it, but instead she heard herself saying, "Master Skywalker does."

The boy stared at her for a long moment, then reached out with his right hand. She thought he might be going to try and feel the baby kick, as some people do, but his hand instead found the jappor snippet, now hanging free over her bodice. He studied it for a few moments, then let it go.

A long while passed in silence. She saw him inhale deeply, as if he were about to say something ...

"Padme!" her sister's voice rang out from the doorway. "Padme! You've got to see this! Come inside! Hurry!"

An odd urgency underscored Sola's words, telling Padme her request was more than just a simple whim. Both of them ran to see what was going on.

------

Her father had brought a holovid with him, reasoning that since they were going into hiding to avoid some political trap, they'd better stay informed about what was going on in the galaxy so they'd know if and when the trap was set. Judging from the crowd gathered around the projection, Padme suspected that time had come. She could hear Palpatine's voice saying something about a plot to destroy the republic, with the implication - had she heard it correctly? - that the Jedi were to blame.

She managed to squeeze through a knot of younglings in time to see the chancellor raise his arms to the senate chamber and declare himself Emperor. To her abject horror, the members of the senate present in the rotunda applauded. The color drained from her face and she sat down heavily on the settee next to her mother. To her surprise, no tears came, only anger.

"So this is how liberty dies," she said bitterly, "To thunderous applause."

Having apparently said his piece, now-Emperor Palpatine stood with outstretched arms, basking in adulation, but the broadcast, live from Coruscant via subspace linkup to satellite feed, did not end. The camera continued to hover mercilessly on its new star, the new savior of the republic _(or was that empire?)_ as his podium at last began to sink into the chamber floor.

"You missed the first part of it," Sola informed her, when it was apparent no more news was forthcoming. "They showed the Jedi temple, or what was left of it. It was burning."


	12. Chapter 12

"That's outrageous!" Obiwan heard Nute Gunray's voice exclaim, and for once he agreed with the Neimoidian. He had been making his final approach to Coruscant in the Separatist leaders' transport when the supreme chancellor had astonishingly usurped the republic, laying claim to the ancient title of galactic emperor.

The subspace broadcast had come through as an emergency bulletin as soon as they'd dropped out of hyperspace, and had auto-activated the onboard holovid. It had taken quite a bit of his Jedi training to avoid staring at the projection; he needed to keep his concentration on flying the awkward converted cargo ship. It wasn't something he was accustomed to; he could fly a small fighter easily enough - if he had to - but that piloting ability didn't transfer over to just anything else. Not for the first time, he wished Anakin were here. He only hoped his impetuous former padawan had somehow managed to get through the clone ships surrounding the planet; he knew they were diligently watching for the sign of any returning Jedi.

As he prepared to bank the ship for orbital insertion, reassurance that Anakin had indeed successfully made planetfall came from an unexpected source: the holovid suddenly began to play back the recording Artoo had made of the chancellor's office while on Mustafar. Dumbfounded, Obiwan glanced over at it, paying for his lack of diligence a moment later when the ship skidded off the top of the atmosphere. Small objects rolled or bounced onto the floor, and several of the separatists who had been standing around the holovid found themselves suddenly sprawled on top of each other. All of them protested loudly.

"Sorry," said Obiwan, bringing the ship back under control, "but if any of you can do any better, you're welcome to take the helm." He almost wished one of them would volunteer. Not surprisingly, none did. "When did that recording start of the chancellor in his office?" he asked.

"Why was it there?" someone asked, bewildered. He could hear the beginning of panic in the voice as well.

"Who put it there?" asked someone else. "Did that other Jedi do that?"

They all started to talk and worry about it at once.

"WHEN DID IT COME ON?" Obiwan nearly shouted, trying to get their attention. "GUNRAY! WHEN?"

"Oh!" said the viceroy of the Trade Federation into the sudden silence, "Uh ... it was ... right after the chancellor spoke."

"When he was still there? Was is shown to the senate? Do you know?"

"I don't know," came the confused answer. "No, he wasn't. That spiral thing had already closed around his chair."

_Anakin,_ Obiwan thought, _if you've done what I think you've done, it was a good move. It's just too bad it's too late. Most of the senate appears to be eating out of the chancellor's hand. It'll take more than that recording to convince them the Jedi are innocent and he is the guilty one._

But as the recording ended, it became immediately apparent that his former apprentice had quite a bit more in mind.

------

On the Tantive IV, Anakin had clung to the Jedi meditation techniques as never before, willing himself to remain calm while he waited, if he could not quite manage the serenity. He suspected Palpatine already knew he was here, but he needed to keep the Sith Lord out of his mind as much as he could until the time was right. Not that he had any specific evidence that the old man could enter his thoughts, but certain past events indicated that possibility, and his warriors' instinct told him it would be better if he were prepared, just in case. He did know that Sidious could feel his emotions. That had been evident in his dreams, and, in looking back, also in his waking life. But in fact, he was counting on that for part of his plan.

He waited for what he thought was a suitable length of time for the senate meeting to begin, then sent Artoo off with his prearranged instructions. The little droid was just disappearing around a corner into a service corridor when the building-wide comm system suddenly squealed to life, announcing the imminent special broadcast of the special session of congress. Anakin gave a start at the unexpected announcement, then took a deep breath and plunged out into the senate building, quietly making his way as quickly as he could to the supreme chancellor's office.

He made it to the luxurious suite of rooms unchallenged (though he'd had to use some misdirection with the Force three times along the way to avoid newly implemented clone patrols). His heart pounded wildly in his chest in anticipation of the coming confrontation. Usually he made some effort to quiet it; such emotion was not acceptable for a Jedi. Now, however, he welcomed it. He would need it; it would help him draw the thing of evil from its lair at the base of the rotunda. Another desk, another office of the chancellor lay there, but Anakin knew he could not face the Sith Lord in a setting so near to the senate, nor with so many exits. Palpatine would have to come to him.

His hand reached out and tapped the blinking holovid switch on the chancellor's desk. The projection popped into view, showing the chancellor sinking into the floor, his arms outstretched. Anakin waited, his breathing becoming more labored as the thoughts he'd previously pushed away filtered in: Smoke rising from the Jedi temple, Padme dying in his dream, fighting Obiwan on Mustafar, choking the life out of Padme ... Choking ...

The iris at the base of the rotunda closed. He shut the holovid off and gave himself over to his despair.

------

Deep in the bowels of the galactic senate, the newly crowned emperor felt the disturbance in the dark side of the Force, and smiled. So his future apprentice wanted to meet him in his main office... Very well, he would oblige. For now.

------

Anakin sat alone on the edge of a low table in the chancellor's office, staring out over the night lights of the city without really seeing them. In his mind, he saw what the city had looked like earlier in the day: The Jedi temple had been burning, smoke rising from several places on the roof and near the ground. Mentally, he followed the smoke down to its source, seeing the Jedi inside cut down, hearing the clashing drone of lightsabers as they parried blaster shots, seeing the clones - the overwhelming number of clones - overrunning the few remaining of the Jedi, most of them padawan students, who nevertheless fought bravely and fearlessly to the end. _He was there, too, the hood of his cloak pulled up over his head, his lightsaber ignited, its blue radiance reflected back from polished surfaces as he passed them. From time to time one of the Jedi would step in his way, demanding to know why he did not stand and fight with them, and he would cut them down, as if they were no more than a training hologram, and go on. He picked his way through the battle, finding the winding stair to the younglings' hall; knowing that they too would need to be eliminated. Although they were not a threat to the empire yet, they would become a threat all too soon, seeking retribution for what had been done that night, if nothing else. He walked forward, and stepped through the door into their chamber. Tears slid unheeded down his face._

"Anakin," the chancellor's silky voice said softly into the silence. "I ... I understand ... why you've come."

Anakin glanced over at the chancellor's reflection in the glass, seeing him dimly, the image rippling in his watery vision. A part of his soul remained behind in the Jedi temple, frozen in place in the younglings' classroom, his lightsaber at hand, though not yet ignited, pain squeezing his chest.

"You know, don't you," the chancellor went on, walking over to him and laying a hand on his shoulder affectionately, "that it was necessary. The Jedi were once a noble order, but their time has passed. You of all people should be aware of that."

Anakin's mouth worked; he struggled to speak, chest heaving. "They ..." he managed to exhale, "they didn't ... attacked ... senate." Or had they? Had he actually even spoken? He couldn't remember.

"It was only a matter of time before they did," Palpatine explained. "They visited me just the other day with their 'request' that I relinquish my emergency powers, which they themselves should have known was unthinkable, even with Grievous defeated. The Separatists had not yet been apprehended. Waiting for the Jedi to strike us would only have cost the lives of innocents. Surely in that light you can see the necessity of my preemptive decision to destroy them."

_The trusting face of a small boy swam before Anakin, close enough to touch, his mouth moving, asking him something:_ _What do we do?_

"The younglings ..." he croaked miserably, unable to take his eyes off the vision of the boy.

The chancellor sighed heavily and sat down beside him.

"Regrettable, I agree," he said wearily. "But necessary, nevertheless. They were all taken from their families so young expressly so that the Jedi could brainwash them with their doctrine. You, my friend, are the only one who escaped that fate. No, even the youngest would have become a danger in time. It was far kinder to end their lives quickly, now, before they became a danger to the law-abiding citizens of the galaxy. A difficult task, yes. But one must sometimes choose that which is more difficult over the quick and easy path. That is the mark of a true and wise leader."

In Anakin's mind, the lightsaber thrummed to life. The boy's face became a blur, the features indistinct, for which he was grateful. _He raised the weapon to strike ..._

_... and took off Master Windu's hand at the wrist. From somewhere he heard glass breaking, and a violet-bladed saber went flying out into the night sky of Coruscant as Windu screamed in his ear. Blue lightning licked at the Jedi Master, engulfing him, lifting him clear of the floor before tossing him effortlessly from the building, 190 stories up. A voice, something like the chancellor's, only huskier and drier, cried, "UNLIMITED POWER!!"_

"What have I done?" Anakin whispered, hearing a lightsaber power off as he stared out the broken window. _His nerveless fingers relaxed and the weapon dropped soundlessly onto the carpet._

"It is, you know," the chancellor was saying, "unlimited. Or, I should say, limited only by what you can imagine; dependent only on yourself. No one to stand in your way; no one to tell you whom you may or may not love or hate, you and you alone, completely in control ... of everything and everyone. All looking up to only you. All loving only you, openly and without restriction ..."

_Padme._

"Become my apprentice, Anakin," the chancellor purred, "Learn to use the dark side of the Force."

_Padme, lying on a hospital bed, screaming in pain as the children are taken from her ..._

Stiffly, Anakin bent to one knee, his vision blurred with overflowing tears, sobs quaking through him, his whole body shaking with grief.

"Join me and together we can save Padme's life," Palpatine promised him, his hand extended like a royal's whose ring is to be kissed. "It is your Destiny."

_From her deathbed, Padme called his name, looking up at him, her eyes pleading ... pleading ... for him to stop choking her, her mouth forming the words __"Anakin, no!" seconds before she fell lifelessly to the pavement._

_I can't live without her._

Something cold touched him inside, clinging to his heart, crushing it. He felt numb, as if there were no feeling anywhere in his body. All had gone with her passing.

_I can't live without her._

Blinking, he saw the hand, still extended towards him. _It grew old and gnarled, the nails thickening and lengthening, the fingers curling inwards on themselves. A bluish light arced between the digits, then leapt forth to strike not him, but another man near the railing. A man he should have known; a man with his mother's gentle heart. He was all he had left of her. Dying._

"No," he groaned. In a single fluid movement, he grasped the hand and rose to his feet, lifting the chancellor easily over his head. The blue lightning from the Sith lord's fingers licked down over him, engulfing them both in its deadly crackle. He staggered under the pain, but it was nothing compared to the torture in his soul, the anguish of a loss he couldn't bear. He took a step toward the railing, then another. The onslaught grew in intensity, his assailant growling, roaring wordless rage; fury flinging from his fingertips to surge down Anakin's arms to his lungs, to his heart, through his legs to the carpeted floor, lancing around him, mocking the emptiness, the nothingness he felt as his breathing failed. With a final, anguished sigh, he tossed his burden through the shattered window. A dark thing, it fell, the flickering tongues of dissipating energy licking hollowly around it.

His breath spent, his legs buckled, and he pitched forward onto the sill.

------

Across the galaxy, in the lake resort on Naboo, his wife stared in frozen denial as the scene played out on her father's holovid for all to see, holding her breath against the inevitable. As if in slow motion, she saw his body sink past the broken pane of glass, falling, falling forever. Then she saw no more.


	13. Chapter 13

The converted cargo ship angled steeply down through the atmosphere at frightening speed, its pilot fighting to avoid the lanes of repulsorlift traffic hanging like multiple strands of bright jewels on the night side of the planet. Inside it, the small band of Separatist leaders sat strapped into their seats, fear overriding all other thoughts in their minds; fear that their pilot had lost all control and that a fiery crash on Coruscant's surface would be the ultimate conclusion to their errant and muddled venture. In their desperation, s few wondered if they might have been better off left to face the clones who would have come to kill them all on Mustafar.

At the conclusion of Artoo's recording, the holovid had blinked a couple of times and switched over to a live security feed of the chancellor's - now the emperor's - office. Seated in it, alone, was a dark-garbed figure with a head of golden hair that Obiwan recognized very well. Amazed, and wondering what his former padawan could possibly have further up his sleeve, he'd kept one eye on the projection as much as he could while he penetrated the atmosphere. Even when Palpatine entered, he had been more fascinated by their exchange than anything, and it hadn't been terribly difficult to divide his attention. He even thought he knew something of what Anakin had planned, and silently applauded him, though he had no idea how it could be brought to a conclusion. But his detached and somewhat academic admiration for his friend's supposed 'plan' evaporated when he heard the glass breaking.

He'd manage to look back at the projection just in time to see Palpatine power off a red-bladed lightsaber and smile as he tossed it on the floor beside Anakin, who was - Obiwan could now see this clearly - obviously not aware of his surroundings. With growing trepidation, he recalled the state his friend had been in when he'd first encountered him on Mustafar, the burden of monstrous deeds he'd never committed weighing heavily upon him, and knew he had somehow slipped back into that nightmare now.

"Become my apprentice," the Sith Lord purred to him, and in alarm, he saw the boy he had taught kneel down.

"No!" cried Obiwan without realizing that he'd even spoken. He pulled the throttle full out and dove for the senate building, dashing the Separatists to the floor for the second time that day. They screamed and scrambled, fumbling, for their seats, as the holovid droned inexorably on. The Jedi Master ignored it; he needed his full concentration to drive the ship where he wanted it to go. Whatever was happening, he couldn't let it distract him; whatever was being said, he blocked from his mind. He had to get there, and he had to do it before it was too late.

------

The ship careened around the perimeter of the senate building and swooped down into a vacant berthing area on the landing platform, its reverse thrusters screeching in at full speed. Before it had even settled to a full stop, Obiwan had leapt free of the hatch and sprung to the floor, almost flying through the exposed hypostile hall on his way to the chancellor's office, his ignited lightsaber flashing before him.

Twice he encountered squads of clones, whose fire he quickly parried, and moved on until he reached the outer door to the chamber. There, another squad of clones stood guard. Without altering his gait, and giving them no time to even take aim, he reached out with his free hand and Force pushed them down the hallway before slamming himself through the door.

He had no idea what to expect once he reached the inner office; the room he'd seen on the holovid, where the window had been deliberately smashed by the Sith Lord to prey on his friend's unstable mind. He had, out of a sense of preservation of his own sanity, not seen what had taken place since Anakin had knelt. Would he find the Sith Lord still in attendence? Would he find two? And if so, what would he then do? He couldn't imagine the consequence... But as he rounded the last corner, into the room where the shattered window was letting in the acrid night air of Coruscant, only a single figure remained, slumped across the window frame, one arm trailing down into the empty space far above the street. With relief and terror simultaneously in his heart, he lifted his friend back inside and laid him on the carpet.

"Anakin," he breathed.

His friend lay still and did not answer. Was he even breathing? It was difficult to tell; his own gasping sobs resounded too loudly in his ears. With great effort, he closed his eyes and pushed away his impending panic, seeking the calm of being centered in the Force. It seemed long in coming, but he persevered, reminding himself that it was the only way he could now help his former student. Then, with his fingers touching the younger man's temples, he sought his luminous presence in the Force.

It was there, but far away, held by such a tenuous link to his body that Obiwan would never have found him if he had not burned so brightly. Yet this very intensity endangered him now, threatening to sear through the gossamer thread that still bound him to flesh, to free him back into the sweet oblivion of the Force.

_Anakin,_ he called to the light, _You must come back. Your work is not finished. Defeating the Sith Lord was only the beginning ..._

For he knew the council had dwelt too much on the immediate quest to remove the Sith from their presence, and had failed to consider the larger problem - the specific task stated by the prophecy - that he would bring balance to the Force. And he knew this larger problem had not really been adequately communicated to his padawan. Not then, not ever. He admitted he was as much to blame for this as any of the others.

But his plea went unanswered, even in his contrition. The blazing sun that was Anakin remained just beyond his reach, flares of passion dancing around it. Or were they separate lights of their own? He couldn't tell. He only knew that his own heart was breaking. His concentration spent, he felt a tear slide down his cheek into his beard. Something squeezed his hand, faintly. He looked down. The face of his friend - his brother - lay in repose, an expression of peace upon it he had not seen since he'd first come to him as a small boy. His good hand lay in Obiwan's, and as the master watched, he saw the slight rise and fall of his younger brother's chest.

Confused and exhausted, and inexplicably relieved, he sat completely down on the floor, his shoulders slumping, though he didn't release his brother's hand. Had he felt Anakin squeeze it before? He wasn't sure, but it didn't matter, not entirely. At least he was breathing now. Everything was going to be all right. At least until he looked up and saw two clones standing in the doorway.

His eyes widened and he fumbled for his lightsaber, but the foremost clone waved both hands, weaponless, in front of him.

"It's all right, sir," he said. "Order 66 has stood down."

Obiwan stared at him in amazement, speechless, as the clone took off his helmet.

"Do you need assistance?" the clone inquired.

"Yes!" Obiwan exclaimed, finding his voice at last. "I need a medical team right away."

------

Sola watched her mother disappear out the door, a feeling of total confusion and helplessness washing over her.

"You two stay here and take care of the children," her mother had said to she and her husband Darred. "Get them to bed."

Like it was that simple. The republic had fallen apart, her brother-in-law had just been publicly electrocuted on the holovid, and her pregnant sister had - unsurprisingly - fainted. Sola thought of just leaving the Jedi children to Darred and running after Padme (these children were probably perfectly capable of looking after themselves anyway, she thought), but knew her mother's order meant more than she had actually said. Jobal wanted her to stay away for now, and she supposed she understood why. A shiver ran through her as she glanced up at Darred, for a split second envisioning him instead of Anakin in that office on Coruscant. Deliberately, she averted her gaze from the holovid projection, though she could see its glow in her peripheral vision and even hear the moan of the wind as it howled through the broken window in the chancellor's far-away office.

Most of the children seemed still transfixed by it, however, except one who she now saw was staring at her - he looked away a moment after meeting her gaze - and another, the one who had been sick earlier, who was staring out the door after her sister.

"Anakin!" a man's voice on the holovid cried. She automatically turned and looked at it, without really wanting to, and saw the Jedi Master Obiwan Kenobi dragging her brother-in-law away from the window to cradle his head and ... was he crying? Jedi didn't cry ... they didn't feel, not the way ordinary people did, anyway. _Nor do they get married and make babies, Sola._ She looked again at the group of children, into their faces.

The one standing next to her, a little blonde girl, looked up at her, eyes wide and pleading. "Is Master Skywalker dead?" she asked plaintively.

"How would _she_ know?" another voice cut in from across the room before Sola could answer. "She isn't a Jedi."

"Well, do you know then, Marrick?" someone else asked the belligerent one sarcastically.

"Shhhh!" several ordered at once.

On the projection, Master Kenobi closed his eyes and placed his hand over Anakin's temples. Then, to everyone's dismay, the image wavered and was replaced by a view of the interior of the senate rotunda.

"No!" cried several at once.

Then they all began to argue:

"He had to be alive. Master Kenobi wouldn't have done that if he wasn't."

"He was doing that to see if he _was_ alive!"

"He killed the Sith Lord. Wouldn't he die afterwards?"

"Master Kenobi killed a Sith Lord before and he's still alive."

"Master Skywalker killed a Sith Lord before and didn't die."

"Did he kill him? We didn't see him definitely die. What if the Sith Lord's still alive?"

"He's dead." This from the sick boy on her left, the first he'd spoken. In the glare from the projection, Sola thought she saw tear tracks on his cheek. It began to dawn on her that these children were not really so different after all.

"How do _you_ know?" asked the belligerent one - Marrick - again.

"He just is," came the answer, in a tone which said it should be patently obvious.

"Children!" she heard her husband's voice cut through. "Quietly." He pointed up. "We don't want to wake up the little ones."

Unlike average children, they immediately complied without argument.

Sola wanted to ask, _Who? Who is dead? The chancellor or Anakin? _but held the question as she saw the supreme chancellor's podium rising in the rotunda and her heart filled with dread. Had he won, then? Dispatched her soft-spoken brother-in-law and come again to reaffirm his grip on power? But as the camera panned in, she saw not Palpatine but Senator Organa of Alderaan. And beside him in the capsule stood the Nemoidian Nute Gunray, viceroy of the Trade Federation and leader of the Separatist movement.

"Is it on?" Organa asked someone off camera. Then, apparently having gotten the affirmative, he continued, "Citizens of the galaxy and all clone troops. I have just been elected interim chancellor of the galactic senate. All clone troops are instructed to stand down from Order 66. I repeat: stand down Order 66 and cease all hostilities. The war is over." He nodded to Gunray, who leaned into the microphone pickup.

"This is Viceroy Gunray, leader of the Trade Federation," he announced. "The war is over. All separatist troops stand down. Repeat: All separatist troops are instructed to stand down."

Gunray withdrew and the new interim chancellor continued, "This republic will _not_ be reorganized into an empire. Several of those who aided in this attempted coup have already been taken into custody, and" - He looked behind the camera for verification of something before proceeding, and nodded with satisfaction - "former Chancellor Palpatine's remains have been recovered. This emergency session of congress will continue in order to address the problems which have surfaced tonight." He paused, took a deep breath, and then formally announced, "I, Interim Supreme Chancellor Bail Organa, hereby _relinquish_ all special powers vested in the office of the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic."

The crowd in the rotunda applauded for the second time that night, and the projection abruptly reverted to a regular newscaster, who looked as wide-eyed as most of the audience no doubt felt.

Sola tuned him out immediately, and leaned down to the boy beside her.

"Was that what you meant?" she asked. "That the chancellor was dead?" She held her breath against the answer, not wanting to give up hope for her brother-in-law. Her sister had waited too long for her own happiness to have it taken from her now.

But he simply nodded as if it should have been obvious.

"You didn't know that," Marrick began once again. "You're just saying it because the holovid told you so."

"I could tell, too," said somebody else. "I felt it, like something got out of the way."

"You're just saying that," Marrick insisted. "Anyway, there's no way Kuniren could have felt it, even if it was possible. He can't control himself."

"I did so feel it," the boy next to her muttered, but so softly Sola wouldn't have heard him if she'd been further away.

"All right," her husband put in. "That's enough excitement for one evening - for anyone. I know you may not be able to sleep, but you need to go on up to your bunks and get quiet. Go on, now."

They began to dutifully file out, all except Kuniren, who suddenly darted out another door, the one that led to the terrace. Sola glanced at her husband and he nodded in understanding. He'd get the kids in bed while she went after that one.

"What about Ana ... Master Skywalker?" she asked hesitantly, as she approached him. He was standing with his back to her, looking out at the lake. "Do you know if he is still alive?"

He glanced up at her, then away, an expression of pain she didn't like on his young face.

"I ... I don't know," he told her.

"You couldn't feel him the way you felt the chancellor?"

He started to speak, "I ..." then sighed and looked away. It occurred to Sola what the problem might be.

"Do you know him very well?" she asked, trying to ease into the subject gently.

"He's our flight instructor," came the reply.

"You can fly?"

"In a simulator," he clarified. "He programs it and then helps us if we get into trouble." He was silent for a moment, then added, "The scenarios he makes up are really interesting." He opened his mouth to add something else, but apparently thought better of it. His gaze returned to the lake.

"You like him a lot, don't you?" she asked, hoping she'd kept the statement neutral enough for a Jedi-trained youngster to accept.

Apparently she had, for he nodded.

"Sometimes," she began, "it can be harder to not know something than it can be to know something bad." She hoped that came out sensibly. "Because at least then you can know and ... get it over with."

"I know," he said, taking a deep breath. "But I'm scared. Marrick is right. I can't control myself."

"You were able to sense the chancellor's death," she pointed out.

"I wasn't scared about that."

"Not even that he might still be alive?"

"No. He was alive before, so what would be the difference?"

She smiled at the obvious logic.

"Are you unable to sense things when you're scared?" she asked, trying a new angle (though she was genuinely curious), "or does it just hurt if you try?"

------

Kuniren wished the lady would go away, but he knew it would be abominably rude to say so. Besides, if he were honest with himself, he knew that wouldn't really solve the problem.

The problem. Not just Master Skywalker, but everything. When Mr. Naberrie had first turned on the holovid and he'd seen ...

_No._

_Yes, you know that was why you ..._

_No,_ he told himself firmly._ You can't know things like that. You can't control yourself._

_That's why you threw up._

_I was stressed._

_Jedi don't get stressed._

From a corner of his mind, he heard Senator Amidala's voice say, "Master Skywalker does."

Master Skywalker _had_ been stressed. Kuniren had been so glad to see him because ...

_Don't think it._

... he could not control himself. Master Skywalker could not. But he'd killed the Sith Lord just the same. Only then ...

_No._

Master Skywalker had known, too. He had felt it happen. What the chancellor had said.

_Kill every ..._

_No!_

He gritted his teeth and forced himself to think out the words the chancellor - the Sith Lord - had spoken: _Kill everyone inside, including the padawans and younglings. Kill everyone inside, including the padawans and younglings. __**Kill everyone inside including the padawans and younglings.**_

_We weren't there, but ..._

_Everyone else is dead. The temple was burning. _

_I felt them die._

_I felt them._

He stared out at the placid surface of the lake, reflected in the starlight. Something warm and itchy rolled down his cheek.

"They're all dead," he said, his voice cracking.

"Master Skywalker?" she asked softly.

A ragged sob escaped him before he said, "All the Jedi at the temple. I felt them die. At dinner."

"That's why you were sick?"

He nodded.

She sighed, and he felt her restlessness. Finally she said, "That was why Master Skywalker sent you here. Wasn't it?"

Vaguely he recalled the tall Jedi telling them something about rebuilding. He tried to focus on his face, his eyes, as they'd been on the transport, but his mind kept substituting the tormented face on the holovid. He'd sent them here, knowing.

He had known in advance.

He would have tried to stop it. But he couldn't.

Master Skywalker was different than the others. Kuniren didn't really know how, just that he was. He would be easy to find in the Force.

_If ..._

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and looked.

Something whispered. He looked further. And further.

And further still.

Light swirled around him. He reached out to find Master Skywalker, feeling him near.

And stopped himself in astonishment.

Master Skywalker was not in the Force.

He_ was_ the Force.

But he was still himself as well.

And he was in need.


	14. Chapter 14

Obiwan rubbed his face and massaged his temples, before looking once again at the bio readouts alongside Anakin's bed. It was not really necessary for him to see them; he was attuned enough to his little brother's aura to sense when they started to dip. As they no doubt would begin to do. Again.

He'd already stopped breathing twice since the medical team had brought him here, to the city center hospital. Both times Obiwan had been able to reach into the Force and coax him back. He hadn't been trained as a Healer; he was just an ordinary Jedi who knew some emergency care. He could help bind a soul to its flesh, provided the soul were willing - in plain terms he could treat shock - but he could do little else. Unfortunately, he was now the most knowledgeable Jedi Healer on Coruscant. The others were all dead.

He sighed, a deep, ragged sigh, and gazed at his brother's still face. The scars - the ones that helped earn him the nickname 'Hero with No Fear' - stood out starkly against the waxen skin. His lips were slightly parted with his faint breath; the piercing blue eyes closed. Invisible from a distance, the pale blonde stubble of his beard reflected unevenly back in the utilitarian light.

"Distress yourself you should not, Obiwan," the small figure seated next to him said softly. "From a long darkness, the republic saved he has. His destiny fulfilled he has. Rejoice for him you should."

_I do rejoice for him,_ Obiwan thought. _But not in death._ Out loud he said, "He's too young. He ... he hasn't lived yet." In his mind, he could still see the small boy with freckles sprinkled across his nose smiling up at him, trustingly offering his heart with both hands.

But accepting hearts was not in the Jedi Code. Nor was offering them, and the boy had tried learning to put the unwanted thing away.

"But he couldn't ..." Obiwan murmured. And so he'd offered it to someone else. Someone he shouldn't have. Someone they should have protected him from.

His heart had been burnt; blackened with darkness. And he had known it.

Obiwan's eye filled with tears.

"Always clearer hindsight is, Obiwan," Yoda told him gently. "And maybe necessary to defeat the Sith Lord, to become close to him it was." He heard a small tap as Yoda adjusted his gimer stick. "Always the Chosen Ones young to the Force return."

"Chosen Ones? How many have there been?" he asked, not caring that his voice wavered.

"When the Force out of balance is, come to us they do," the ancient master explained. "Sent by the Force they are, and when their destiny fulfilled is, to the Force they return. So the prophecy tells us."

Surprised, Obiwan said, "Then the prophecy wasn't just about Anakin."

"About balance in the Force the prophecy is."

"Master," Obiwan began, "Just before I left for Utapau, you said the prophecy might have been misinterpreted." He paused a moment, brow knit, then asked, "How?"

To his dismay, Yoda bent his head and looked away.

"Wrong, I was," he nearly whispered. "Too certain of what to expect I was. Too much faith in the code I had."

"The code?" Obiwan had just been questioning it himself. Had he been right to do so?

"Created to counter the Sith of a millennium ago it was," Yoda explained. "To preserve the last Chosen One's teachings it was written. Expected the new Chosen One to be a follower I did; the pendulum's swing I saw not. Not even when from outside the republic he came."

"Pendulum..." said Obiwan softly to himself. Then he asked, "So the imbalance in the Force changes each time it happens? First a neglect of the Living Force and then of the Universal Force? And then presumably back again?"

"Always not," Yoda clarified, "But likely most of the time it does. A millennium ago neglect of the Universal Force it was; the Sith their passions in wanton abandon indulged. Then the Chosen One the Jedi Order and republic began."

"The republic?" Obiwan asked, surprised. "But I remember this from my history lessons, Master Yoda. I thought there was more than one founder of the order. And it doesn't seem logical that they would also have created the republic. Wouldn't that have been a conflict of interest?"

"Directed by the Chosen One they were," came the answer, "before his passing."

Obiwan's gaze returned to the still form of his former padawan, the white of the hospital linens making his colorless face even paler.

"And now the Living Force has been neglected," he murmured. "Qui-Gon was right." Obiwan looked over at Master Yoda, who was plucking at his cane. "That's why he found him." He realized he'd never quite seen anyone so vital - so alive - as his little brother. Which was why it hurt so much to see him now. To see him ...

A sudden thought struck him.

"But then his mission was to balance the Force, not just simply destroy the Sith," he said. "Has it been balanced? Did the Jedi Order need to be entirely destroyed in order to achieve that? That would make no sense; it would be just as bad as the other way 'round."

"Careful you must be, Obiwan," the ancient one cautioned him. "From your attachment you speak. To the Force you must listen."

"Yes, Master," Obiwan replied.

------

Padme shook as she entered the hospital; shook so hard that she had to lean completely on her father's arm so he could hold her upright. Her strength was almost gone, burned out of her by the holovid image she could not erase from her mind, the image of the man she loved dying, falling, as she had lived in constant fear that he would every time he left for some battlefront during the war. Her mind had been unable to accept it then; unable to look at the image any longer; unwilling to see him lying there, still and ... dead.

_He can't be dead,_ she'd thought to herself over and over. She couldn't imagine that face, that smile, those eyes ... gone. Visions of how he had looked to her since their re-acquaintance three years ago flashed before her: Her first sight of him grown and the jolt she'd felt through her entire body, down to her toes, at the sight of him, that she'd tried so hard to hide. Their first kiss on that long-ago day, by the lake on Naboo; their marriage a short month later in the very same place. The feel of his body against hers on the night she imagined the baby had been conceived. The anguish she'd seen on his face when he'd first told her he loved her and she had tried to push him aside, and the look of wonder he'd borne when she'd finally admitted she loved him too. The kiss they'd shared then, both in chains in that arena. Dying then, together... why had that seemed easier? She hadn't been afraid of death. She couldn't imagine living without him. Without him she was dead already.

She'd awakened, screaming, in the infirmary. Her parents had tried to console her, but it was her baby - her son - that had finally calmed her down; the incessant kicking and pounding inside her was more than she could ignore - and almost more than she could imagine coming from one tiny baby. The constant internal thrashing had given her hope; hope enough to keep her going until she knew for certain. Hope that her son somehow knew something she did not. Hope that had multiplied a thousandfold when the youngling had burst into the infirmary, ignored her mother's outraged protest, and breathlessly announced that "Master Skywalker is alive!" followed by "and he needs you."

All her energy since then had been spent on getting herself here, to this place, to see him; _He needs me,_ her constant litany, chanted to the unceasing drumbeat of their child's feet pounding inside her, pulling her, pushing her forward. Protests, objections raised by her mother, and to a lesser extent her father, had been brushed aside in a concise recitation of recent facts; her sister, Sola, argued her case: The republic had been restored, the war ended on all fronts. There was no longer any reason to stay away. For any of them.

Determination and renewed strength had carried her here, to the door of the hospital. But as she entered, her spirit flagged, the cold grip of fear seizing her as she neared her goal. What if she were too late? What if he were already gone and she had not been there for him? Tears from a well she'd thought long run dry filled her eyes. The youngling was not here to reassure her; the temple had been burnt, the disposition of the Jedi still unknown. So the children had remained behind on Naboo with her sister. Her baby alone drove her on.

He kicked against her breast, beating with her heart. She knew her spirit leaned on her unborn son more than she physically leaned on her parents. If his father died ... if he died, she would last long enough to give the child life. But she knew that once she no longer felt his presence inside her, that she would die then, too. His very birth would rip out her heart.

At that moment, she understood Anakin's dream about her death in childbirth, and realized what it meant.

"No..." she breathed, then louder, she said, "No." Rising from her father's arm, she marched forward into the depths of the hospital, slowly at first, but gaining speed. Up a crescent-shaped fall of stairs to a higher level, then down a long hallway, pulled on by a knowledge she did not question as she should not have yet known where inside he was. On she strode, purposeful and determined, her thoughts centered now on the promise he had made to her; the promise she had not then believed: _I won't let it come true, Padme. I won't let this one come true._

She would hold him to that promise.

The door to his room stood open; the glass of the wall beside it reflecting the overhead lights of the hallway. She gained it, then stopped, seeing him. Fear began creeping back into her soul; he looked so pale, the skin around his eyes bluish and bruised.

The baby kicked her once again and she forced herself to put one foot in front of the other, though her mind whirled with impossible thoughts:_ How? He's not conscious - how would he know? Am I too late?_ But the baby - their baby - drove her on. She reached out to touch his hand - his only hand -

------

Obiwan looked up as Padme entered the room. Something about her posture stopped him from speaking; for a moment he wasn't sure exactly what. But as she walked forward, he felt some previously undetected disturbance in the Force suddenly manifest in the room between her and Anakin. She reached out to touch her husband's hand, and he saw - or perhaps he only imagined he saw - a soft blue glow begin between their hands and spread, fading, to the whole of their bodies before it dissipated away.

On the bed, Anakin gasped, inhaling deeply, then sighed, drifting at last into a gentle sleep.

------

"You're certain?" Obiwan pressed, as they stood just outside of Anakin's hospital room. He knew Yoda would probably lecture him on his 'attachment' later, but was willing to endure the rebuke for the sake of reassurance - even though he could - and had - already reassured himself through the Force that Anakin would now be all right.

"His condition has stabilized," the med droid stated. "We don't know why. But he is now recovering at a steady pace and is out of danger."

"And Padme?" he asked, more for her parents' benefit. "His wife."

"She is perfectly healthy."

He nodded and looked at Padme's mother, who tightened her mouth and nodded reluctantly.

"There, you see?" her father said. "It's not as if we were going far. Her apartment is only a few blocks from here." A sudden thought seem to strike him and he turned back to Obiwan. "Oh, I should have thought to ask, I suppose. I know the temple burned; I saw it on the holovid. There's no rush; we can keep the children for as long as it takes, but I thought I'd ask ... Is something wrong?"

Obiwan realized he must have been standing with his mouth open. _Children?_ Did he dare hope that meant what he thought?

"I'm, sorry," he said, not quite willing to give the hope free reign, "Children?"

"Yes, the Jedi children Padme brought with her to Naboo," her father explained. "I know Anakin told her they had to be hidden from the chancellor, but I would have thought you would have known." His brow furrowed in confusion.

"Away we were fighting the war," Yoda suddenly put in. "But known about it we should. The dark side _our_ judgement clouded as well. Relieved we are to hear they are safe."

Obiwan glanced back through the glass wall of Anakin's room, to where he lay, still sleeping on the bed. The cot they'd brought for Padme was braced beside it, and she lay curled beside him in the crook of his partial right arm, her own arm wrapped protectively around his chest.

_You did it,_ Obiwan thought, his eyes burning. _You saved them. You saved them._ He felt a gentle tap on his leg and looked down at his master.

"To Naboo you must go, Obiwan," Yoda told him. "To Coruscant they must return, the Jedi Order they will help restore."

Obiwan sighed.

"Yes, well ..." he said, thinking, _I should go. He's right._ He looked in at Anakin again, and realized he simply did not want to leave his brother, at least not until he had at least seen him awake. But, he thought, Anakin would be fine, whether he was here beside him or not._ I've got to let go of the attachment._ He looked away. _Don't I?_

The Naberries excused themselves and walked away together, arm in arm, down the hallway. Obiwan heard Yoda take a deep breath. He looked down at the diminutive master and saw him brush his thin hair back from his face.

"To the temple I will return," he announced. "Meditate on what has happened, I will."


	15. Chapter 15

Anakin awoke slowly. He was lying on his back, with the odd sensation that he was somehow submerged a few centimeters below the top of the mattress except for the band across his chest where Padme's arm lay. That part of him floated, buoyed by the love that burst from his being at the feel of her lying snuggled beside him. For a long time he lay still, his eyes shut, basking in the warmth of the sheer strength of that feeling, letting it heal him. Feebly, his mind made an attempt to remember what had happened, but it was quickly lost in the overpowering music the Force whispered to him to simply ... be. He made a single effort, wanting to see her - his eyes cracked open, their reward a view of dark lashes on her smooth cheek, warm in the fading daylight of the room. Satisfied, he smiled and drifted back off into sleep.

He dreamed ...

_Padme lay in a white hospital gown ... in pain ... but it was only temporary, and she smiled, wearily, at him. A baby cried. He looked down to see her holding it, smiling, then looking up at him, at the baby he, too, held. _

He woke abruptly.

The room was dark now, the ghostly silver flashes of speeder headlights tracking up the wall and across the ceiling. Padme still lay beside him, sleeping, her soft breathing giving him comfort, her ripening womb pressed into his side. From within it he felt a stirring and then a sharp prod. His breath caught. Tears wet his eyes, but they were joyous tears, as the dream came back to him and he realized what it meant. He turned his head toward his wife, his left hand sliding subconsciously over to touch his baby while his right tried to hug its mother tightly.

But, awkwardly, that hand seemed to clench only air; nothingness. Confused, he lifted his head, then let it fall wearily back on the pillow as Padme stirred, twisting to look at him.

"Anakin?" she whispered hopefully. Her eyes glinted in the darkened room.

"I didn't mean to wake you," he breathed hoarsely. With a gasp, she threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly, her body shaking. He realized she was crying. He tried to hold her, to comfort her, but again only his left hand managed it. It dawned on him his prosthesis was missing. He settled for stroking her back.

After a while, she propped herself up on one elbow and looked down on him, cradling his face with her free hand. His hand found hers there, and held it.

"Oh, Anakin," she breathed raggedly. "Are you all right? How do you feel?"

He realized only then that he was abnormally weak. Moving - especially lifting any part of himself - took a major conscious effort, and his body felt vaguely bruised all over.

"What happened?" he asked.

"You don't remember?" Her voice sharpened with concern.

"I ... um ..." He dug into his thoughts, trying to come up with something._ Was I in some kind of accident?_ he wondered. But there was only blankness. "No," he finally admitted.

He heard a hitch in her breath and she squeezed his hand tightly, but she said nothing else.

"What happened to my arm?" he asked, unwilling, at the moment, to spend the energy pursuing the subject further.

"Oh," she said, seeming glad for the distraction. "It shorted out. They weren't sure ..."

_Shorted out?_

"... hurt you, so they wanted to wait until you were awake before they fit you with a new one."

"Padme, what happened to me?"

"Oh ..." she said, and he heard her face crumple in her voice. "Anakin ... I don't want to ... you ... you, you nearly died ... I ..." She hugged him close again, her face buried between his neck and shoulder. Again he stroked her back as she shook with sobs. Presently, she said, "I was so scared; I thought ..." She took a deep breath and raised her head to look at him. He could see the glitter of her tears in the ambient light. "I thought I knew why you kept having that dream. I couldn't live without you."

His heart lurched as he remembered. He'd seen them together - happy ...

"It won't happen, Padme," he whispered to her. "It's gone. That dream is gone."

In answer, she snuggled close and hugged him even tighter.

"But what happened?" he asked once more.

She caressed his face, her hand traveling from his cheek, down the side of his neck to his shoulder.

"You killed the Sith Lord," she said.

------

Obiwan set the ship into hyperdrive, sighed, and leaned back, stretching his tired muscles. He desperately needed to rest, but didn't feel comfortable sleeping when he was the only one on board; if some emergency arose that the computer couldn't handle, he might not be able to respond quickly enough.

He rubbed his face and yawned, glancing around into the empty passenger hold behind him. He was, extraordinarily, once again piloting the Separatist leaders' transport, only this time, thankfully, without any of them present. Master Yoda had managed to appropriate it for use as a shuttle to retrieve the younglings from Naboo - the Separatists, anxious to show the Senate how cooperative they were (without having to agree that they'd done anything wrong) had graciously given the Jedi the shuttle "for as long as it was needed." Obiwan wondered dryly if their previous experience with his piloting them had contributed any towards their wanting to rid themselves of it.

He yawned again. Maybe he could meditate in lieu of sleeping, he decided, rubbing the back of his neck. Because, he thought, if he didn't do something, he was going to fall asleep anyway. He forced himself to consciously check each instrument to make sure it was operating properly and no problems were imminent, though he yawned wider and wider. But, finally satisfied, he took a deep, calming breath and centered himself in the Force.

After a slight struggle to keep from simply drifting off to sleep, he found the island of peace he sought within, and bathed himself in the light. He did not "empty his mind" but instead simply gave the weariness he felt away. The Force accepted it; for awhile he sat surrounded by its restoring power. After what may or may not have been a long time (In his meditation, he was not conscious of time), his mind felt refreshed enough to explore. For the moment, he allowed it to travel where it would.

Dry dust. Heat. Cellars and ozone. The low frequency vibration of a lightsaber. Flashes of color. Blue. An indicator light. High levels of ... glass breaking. A child with freckles across his nose, smiling. A blue glow between hands touching. Falling. A chasm. Far away industrial sounds. Weight in his arms; Anakin. Weight in his arms; Qui-Gon. A half-remembered dream of sadness, long ago. Comfort given: _Dreams pass_. Happiness. Security. Warmth. Red. Glass breaking. Falling. Whispering, a promise. Qui-Gon.

"Are you able to hear me, Obiwan?" the familiar voice asked him.

He looked, happy surprise overcoming him.

"Qui-Gon?" he asked, the wonder coloring his voice. His old master smiled at him, the little half-smile he'd known so well. "How is this possible?"

"For you to see me?" asked Qui-Gon, "Probably because you are meditating. It's quite possible you may only be able to detect me during meditation at all. But I am glad that this, at least, is now possible."

"Because the Sith have been destroyed?"

Qui-Gon nodded. "Yes, the darkness no longer blocks me from you - or Master Yoda. Though he was able to hear me at times before. Not, unfortunately, well enough for me to do much good for him."

Obiwan smiled.

"But why now? Why are you ..." he stopped, realization coming to him. "Because of Anakin, isn't it?"

"Not entirely," his old master said with a smile. "I am really here; this isn't just a figment of memory and imagination as you appear to believe. Search yourself; you will know."

Obediently, Obiwan complied; meditation within meditation, centering within the centered. True seeing. The figment, Qui-Gon's body, disappeared but his presence did not. Obiwan felt the slight amusement and the ... waiting, the same waiting he'd always felt from his master when he'd been an apprentice. And the same amusement, as well. Only now he understood that it had only been Qui-Gon's amusement in waiting for Obiwan to discover what his master had already known he'd learned.

_Now you see,_ Qui-Gon's thought came into his head; a whisper, not really a voice, but Qui-Gon's all the same.

"But why?" Obiwan asked. "How?"

_A fortunate combination of my study of the Living Force and my personal determination to finish what I'd started, _came the reply. _I managed to ask you to see that Anakin was trained, but I ran out of time before I could tell you the rest of what you needed to know_.

"About what?"

_About Anakin,_ Qui-Gon told him. _I never said anything because I thought I would be his master and would be able to do what needed to be done. You didn't know because you'd never left the ship when we were on Tatooine._

"What did I need to know?"

_That Anakin had been a slave, _came the answer. _As was his mother. He was the wrong age to be taken from her, but I wasn't able to free her when we were there. I intended to go back with the proper resources to do that._

Obiwan was nearly shocked out of his meditative state; he gathered himself and tried to re-focus, but Anakin's teenage dreams of his mother in pain partly blocked his efforts.

_It wasn't your fault,_ he heard Qui-Gon tell him through the noise of his own guilt. _You understandably went by your own experience, trying to help him the way I helped you: Dreams pass. They do, if they are merely dreams. And there was no way at that time for either of you to suspect otherwise. When he did finally suspect was when he left to find her. Neither of you were at fault; if anyone was to blame it was me._

"You?"

_I could have waited and come back for Anakin when I had the resources to free them both, _said Qui-Gon. _Instead, I rushed off with Anakin immediately, thinking I could return at my leisure. I was wrong._

Obiwan considered this. Finally, he said, "I don't think so, Master."

_Why not?_

"Padme was with us when we found him," he explained, feeling his way along with his explanation, "I think he might have had to come with us when she was there."

He could feel Qui-Gon considering this.

_It's possible,_ he admitted. _There are many things about the Force I do not understand, even now. She was necessary to the fulfillment of his destiny, no matter which path he chose._

"Path? He kept mentioning something about turning to the dark side, as if he'd done it, but ..."

_He was well on that path. Darth Sidious had cultivated him for so long, it was a tribute both to his resistance and to your teaching that he hadn't turned sooner. It was fortunate - or possibly the will of the Force - that I finally discovered a way to reach him._

"He's spoken to you?"

_Oh, no,_ Qui-Gon was quick to assure him, a wry amusement coloring his thought. _I simply took advantage of the extreme focus he put on dreams. I showed him what his future would be like if he kept on the path he'd started down._

"But you said ... How could he have fulfilled his destiny if he'd turned to the dark side? Or did you mean that Padme would do it?"

_Padme would have died. That was a dream he had without any help from me, only he had no idea what it meant. He would actually have turned to the dark side in an attempt to prevent that from happening. But what we are taught as Jedi - that the dark side forever claims those who turn to it, is wrong. Anakin would have eventually thrown it off, although not until many years had passed and the galaxy had been put through much torment. What would enable him to do it would be his son. He would have sacrificed himself to save his son from Palpatine_.

Obiwan digested that, remembering the despair his brother had radiated, not only on Mustafar, but in the Force, in the three times he'd had to reach him to keep him from dying, and the struggle he'd had overcoming it each time.

_He'll recover now,_ Qui-Gon reassured him._ But it will take him some time to completely heal. He will need you to help him through that._

_Of course,_ thought Obiwan.

The alert sounded; the ship was about to drop out of hyperspace. Obiwan sensed Qui-Gon's presence fading. _Wait ..._

_I'll be with you, Obiwan,_ his master said softly. _Always._


	16. Chapter 16

Three days later, Obiwan was back on Coruscant. Having delivered the younglings safely into Master Yoda's care, he sped over to the hospital to see Anakin, hoping to see him greatly recovered. But when he got to the hospital door, he was taken aback to see it congested with floating news cameras. They swivelled to look at him as he neared. The closest intercepted him.

"Master Kenobi," he heard the voice of its remote operator say, "Can you let us know exactly what your role was in the chancellor's office on the night of his death? What part did you play in Skywalker's survival?"

Another joined the first one, demanding, "Was it true that Skywalker had resigned the Jedi Order prior to his appearance in the congressional building that night?"

Three more swarmed in, and they all began questioning him at once about Anakin and the circumstances surrounding the Sith Lord's death and the restoration of the republic. He blinked at them in disbelief and tried to pass, but they didn't want to yield; he tried saying, "Excuse me," but that didn't work very well either. Finally he had to resort to pushing them bodily out of his way, apologizing as he did so. When he got to the door, he turned around and said, "I'm sorry, but I have nothing to say at this time," and escaped to the safety of the indoors. News cameras were not allowed inside the hospital. _Thank goodness,_ he thought.

As he navigated his way to Anakin's room, he wondered why the newspeople were interested enough to hover outside the hospital. As he reached the top of the stairs, he realized that Anakin had used a very dramatic device to engineer the chancellor's downfall, and he'd done it virtually in front of the entire population of the republic. Even if he hadn't been known before (and he had been; he was so photogenic that Obiwan had teased him about being their "poster boy" during their exploits in the Clone War), he would have become a household name instantly following that one act. It had been as dramatically staged (without even trying) as most programs on the holovid, and had the added impact of being true and live. Anakin's nearly dying would only have added to the glamour. He knew his brother had enjoyed being the poster boy, in spite of his protests to the contrary, but that was a slight exposure compared to what lay outside the hospital. He wondered how Anakin would react to that; it would interfere with free movement, which wasn't something he could visualize him enduring. Maybe they'd be lucky and it wouldn't last too long. He hoped.

He stopped just before he reached the door to Anakin's room, the scenes he'd just imagined evaporating as a tiny pinprick of fear stitched his heart. He'd been able to successfully shut out the emptiness of the Jedi temple - the Jedi who'd been killed there weren't people he'd ever had a very close relationship with anyway. He'd been horrified by how they'd died, but had no undue attachment to any of them. Anakin, however, was a different story. If he'd once thought he'd had to come to terms with an attachment he'd had to Qui-Gon, that was nothing compared to what he felt now. And while Qui-Gon's assurance that his little brother would recover had greatly eased Obiwan's mind, he was still disturbed by the pronouncement that it would take him time to heal. The despair he'd felt within Anakin had been so overpowering as to threaten his brother's will to live. Qui-Gon had said he must help him, and he would - he would do anything to help. But he had no idea how to even begin. The memory nagged at him of a bluish light shining from between two hands along with an indescribable manifestation in the Force, and he thought he understood that the Living Force was trying to guide him with it somehow, but he couldn't see how it applied to him. He was genuinely afraid - he had to admit it - that Anakin's healing would take a very long time, and that he might never know his brother as the same person he'd loved and shared his life with before.

_Well, the fear has to go, even if I can't manage to lose the attachment,_ he thought. He took a deep breath, let it out, and entered the doorway to his brother's hospital room. And felt his heart leap as he stopped short with astonishment, his mouth open.

Anakin stood next to the bed, fully clothed, embracing his wife. His head was slightly bowed and his eyes were closed - as were Padme's. Both of them looked so at peace they might almost have been sleeping if they hadn't been upright. The Force permeated the room like a thick cloud; it had the same feel to it that it had the day of the miracle, though it was more dissipated now; of far less intensity. He perceived it as some remarkable healing property of their love for each other; some special reaction of the Force to the Chosen One, and to the woman that he realized now had been tied to him all along. Through it, Obiwan felt the life he recognized as Anakin, and knew his brother must be aware of his presence as well, though he appeared to give no outward sign. Again, he wondered what he could possibly provide that the incredible strength of healing he felt here did not. He had done well holding Anakin together until Padme had arrived (hadn't he?), but he felt completely extraneous now. His brother had obviously recovered much more quickly than he had even dared to hope. He should feel so relieved, he thought, and the muscles he'd been holding too tensely did loosen, but to his surprise they did not relax completely. Even so, he would have turned to go, allowing Anakin and Padme their privacy, if Master Yoda hadn't wished him to convey a message. So for a moment he stood there, but as he waited, Qui-Gon's directive seemed to nag at him harder and harder, though he understood it less and less - until at last, Anakin opened his eyes and looked at him.

Qui-Gon had been right. His brother had recovered, but he was not healed. He had recovered from the encounter with the Sith Lord, but it would take much more to heal him from the state he'd been in before that battle. The despair seemed less - at least Anakin appeared aware of his surroundings now - but it was not by any means gone. Obiwan could still see it in his eyes, along with a numbing weariness he liked even less, because he suspected it would be much more difficult to fight.

He was unprepared, however, for his little brother's reaction to seeing him: Slowly releasing his wife, he flew upon Obiwan in a rush, throwing his arms around him, and hugging him tightly. Surprised and slightly uncomfortable, Obiwan hesitantly returned the embrace, unsettled by the shaking he felt throughout the larger man's body.

"Anakin?" he said, "Are you sure you ought to be out of bed?"

He felt his brother sigh deeply and let go of the embrace, though he kept one hand - his good one - on Obiwan's upper arm.

"I'm fine," he said unconvincingly. Then he added, "I ... I can't stay in the hospital anymore. I want to go home."

"Ah, I see," Obiwan replied. This he understood.

Padme took Anakin by the arm and he released his grip on the older man.

"He's checked out already," she said. "We were just getting ready to go. Will you come with us?"

Remembering the gaggle of cameras just outside, Obiwan thought it might be a good idea if he tagged along to help shoo them off. Yoda's message would wait, he thought. It was obvious his brother needed more rest that he'd at first thought.

But as if reading his mind, Anakin suddenly asked, "Did you come here to see me about something in particular?"

It would have been easy to simply say that he'd come to see how his former apprentice was doing - it was certainly true - but it avoided the issue. So he said, "It will wait, Anakin. It's not that important."

Anakin had been starting to walk out the door with his wife. He stopped and faced Obiwan squarely.

"I would like to know," he said.

"Anakin," warned Padme, but her husband only held up his black-gloved hand for a moment and continued to stare at his older brother, though his eyes belied the firmness in his voice.

Obiwan sighed. "Master Yoda simply asked me to tell you that he'd like to speak with you when you felt well enough," he related. "That's all there is to it."

Anakin nodded. "I'll come now," he said. Eyes wide, Padme opened her mouth to protest, but her husband cut her off with, "I'll be fine with Obiwan, Padme. This way you can address the senate. You know it needs to be done."

It occurred to Obiwan that a disagreement on this topic had been going on between them before he'd arrived. Common sense told him to stay out of it, but the layer of Living Force enveloping the room overrode his judgement. He heard himself saying, "I'll take good care of him, Padme. You know if he tries to overdo it, I'll bring him back here straight away." He looked pointedly at Anakin as he said this, but his brother didn't see the glared warning; he was busy staring at his wife.

Her head fell as she relented, but she looked quickly back up and said, "It shouldn't take me long. Promise me you'll come home as soon as you've heard what he has to say."

------

Obiwan had forgotten to warn them about the cameras.

"What is that?" Anakin asked, dismay in his voice, as he pointed to the hoard of them just outside the darkened glass of the door.

"Oh, I should have remembered to say something," Obiwan said. "It seems you've become an overnight celebrity. All the news stations in the galaxy are interested in your life now. You know, 'Enquiring minds want to know.'"

"I'll take care of it," Padme told them.

"How?" her husband asked, growing more horrified by the minute.

"When we open the door, just walk out to the shuttle - see, it's right over there," she said. "I'll stop and talk to them until you've made it. Keep the shuttle door closed once you're there, but hold it for me and I'll join you. It'll work; don't worry."

------

Unbelievably, it did. Senator Amidala, accustomed to handling the press virtually all her life, completely ignored their leading questions - about Anakin's heroics in killing the chancellor and the speculation about a possible falling out he'd had with the Jedi Order - and segued into the topic she intended to take up that afternoon in the senate. Obiwan and Anakin escaped into the shuttle with only minor pursuit, which they ignored as she'd advised.

"I'm on my way to the rotunda right now to address one of the major problems brought about by Chancellor Palpatine's treachery," Padme said in reply to a question about the night of the chancellor's death. "All of us were his victims, including the Separatists. We cannot begin to heal the scars he left on the republic unless we first recognize this fact. I am going to pledge my support for a waver of amnesty for those involved in the succession movement who wish to repatriate."

"Would this include amnesty for the Trade Federation?" one of them asked her as she stared to walk towards the waiting shuttle.

"Yes, of course."

"You haven't forgotten that they once tried to assassinate you?"

"That event only shows how deeply Palpatine was able to divide us. That division has to stop. We need to be unified in order to repair the republic, and we won't be able to effectively unite unless we put an end to finger-pointing. The blame lies at Palpatine's feet, and he is dead. We need to move forward. That is what I will support, and that is what I will work for."

She joined her husband and Obiwan in the shuttle, and the door closed behind her, leaving the news cameras hovering on the hospital landing platform.


	17. Chapter 17

Anakin sat in silence on the shuttle next to Obiwan after they'd dropped Padme off at the rotunda, his elbows on his knees, head in his hands, fingers in his hair. Obiwan wanted to break the silence, but - oddly for Obiwan, Anakin thought - couldn't find the right words to say. Anakin could sense this. He could sense how his master felt, know his feelings, feel his emotions, even the ones he'd suppressed. He wasn't entirely sure he liked the ability. It was fine now - in fact it had probably saved his life, he thought. Padme ... he'd known she loved him, but to feel it; to know she actually needed him the way he needed her ... the sheer power of that overcame him. He wanted to wrap himself in it and never let go; it soothed the parts of him that hurt inside, the wounds he still felt; when he pressed that strength of shared love to those scars it eased the pain he felt from them. But he couldn't spend both their lives basking in it forever; he needed to teach himself to survive for periods of time when he was separated from her. As he was now - the memory was there, but the warm security he felt surrounding him like a cocoon was missing. He took several deep breaths, trying to center himself in the Force as he'd been taught, but his concentration was too scattered. Beside him he felt Obiwan say ...

"Anakin, are you well?"

... and realized he'd probably sounded as if he was gasping for air. He sat up, swallowed, and looked at his old master.

"Yes, I'm fine," he said as calmly as he could. "I was ... I was trying to center myself, but ..." He didn't finish; he knew Obiwan would know what he meant.

Again he felt his master want to say something to him and hesitate. Anakin's heart lurched as the feeling nestled around him like the faintest breath of air.

_Obiwan loved him._

How he had wished for this as a boy growing up. He had fallen asleep dreaming about it; spent many of his waking hours thinking up ways to bore his way into his master's heart, even though he'd known it was against the code. He'd never really believed in the code anyway ... at least, he hadn't believed in the part which forbade love. That hadn't been ... that wasn't ... it was ...

That_had_ been his own opinion. Not ...

He wondered if Obiwan would still love him when he knew. It felt so fragile to him, that love, hiding, like a painfully shy child who wants so badly to make friends. He felt his eyes start to fill, blinked, and looked away.

"Anakin, are you certain you're all right?" Obiwan asked him softly. "This can wait. It's not that important; Master Yoda said it was for when you felt ready."

"I am ready," he replied, wiping his eyes with his hand and looking back up at his master. "I ... I have to see Master Yoda," he added. "There's something ... it's different; I don't know, I think ..."

He felt surprise and then acknowledged acceptance from the man next to him, who, again, he felt wanted to speak and did not. But when he felt Obiwan's hand on his shoulder, the tears came again. With the touch, the connection was much stronger.

Obiwan had loved him for a long time.

How had he not known this? But worse than that, how was he going to live without it after Obiwan found out what he really was? How would he stand it when he actually felt the disappointment and revulsion in his master, and knew them for a fact; something real he couldn't dispute, couldn't pretend Obiwan might not really feel? Wouldn't it be better to not feel at all than to bear witness to such rejection? How would he manage to function normally if he found himself surrounded by dissent? Before Obiwan had arrived, Padme had asked him to join her in the senate rotunda. But he couldn't go there; not like this. What had happened to cause this change in him? Why only now could he feel ...

_NO!_The revelation stunned him, taking his breath away._ Not only now! He'd always done this; always felt ... Only it had been ..._

He gasped, leaning forward, shaking, struggling for air.

------

"Anakin!" exclaimed Obiwan. _I shouldn't have done this. I knew I shouldn't have brought him here so soon!_ His brother was bent over, his arms locked across his stomach, gasping. Obiwan put his arm around his back and drew him close, holding onto him, feeling him shiver. "Slow down," he told him. "You're hyperventilating. Breathe slower." He rocked him slowly back and forth in a steady rhythm to help him pace the breaths he took. "That's right," he said as Anakin began to get himself back under control, "That's good. Just. Breathe. Slowly."

The shuttle came to a stop. Obiwan looked up and saw that they were in front of the Jedi temple's main entrance. He sighed.

"I really think we'd best turn around," he said gently, silently berating himself for not following his common sense earlier.

"No," Anakin replied, almost before he'd finished speaking. The refusal hardly surprised the older man; he'd had thirteen years to get used to hearing it. But when his former padawan turned to look at him, he saw not defiance in his eyes, but a sort of despairing hope. "I need ... to see Master Yoda," he added.

Enlightenment began to dawn on Obiwan.

"About this?" he asked.

Anakin nodded, swallowing and taking a deep breath.

"All right," Obiwan acquiesced. "If you're sure you won't pass out on me before we get there."

The younger man shook his head, once. "I won't," he whispered, then added, "It's all right," as if he thought Obiwan needed reassurance.

_Maybe I do,_ he thought, and started to get up, but felt something tug at him. He looked down to see Anakin, arms still folded, grasping the hem of his tunic tightly, like a lifeline. The younger man seemed to notice it at the same time, and deliberately let it go.

------

Anakin knew that Obiwan expected him to collapse at any moment, and considering what his behavior must have looked like, he couldn't blame him. The only thing he could do now, however, was to control himself as best he could and not give his former master any more cause for concern. The worst of the shock was over, he thought, although he refused to think about what the implications meant for him; he had to push thinking about it away at least until he got inside; until he saw Master Yoda. But it didn't stop him feeling like he was walking to the executioner's.

It was very quiet inside the temple, although the silence was not tomblike, as he'd half expected it to be. From far away he heard the echo of voices, mostly high-pitched ones._ The younglings must have returned,_ he realized. _At least I did something right._ But that had been after he'd known ... _Stop thinking about it._

He stared high overhead at the corbel-vaults in the ceiling of the nave. The grandeur of the main hall never failed to impress him, though he knew now it belonged to a past age, long gone. When he looked back down, he saw that Master Yoda was waiting for them in an alcove, and as he approached the ancient head of the council, he felt his presence as well. And something else.

Master Yoda knew. And he understood.

"Anakin," he said softly in greeting, for the first time using his given name.

"Master," he replied, bowing, wondering why he had never felt this before, not even when he had come to Coruscant for the first time. Instead, he'd felt ...

"Discovered, you have, the extent of the darkness," the old master observed. "Painful it is for us all."

"Master?" Painful for Master Yoda? The things he had done?

"Not your actions, Anakin," he clarified. "Myself I speak of."

"You?"

The sage nodded wearily. "Let us to a meditation chamber go," he suggested. Anakin felt Obiwan hesitate. Evidently Master Yoda did as well, because he added, "Join us, you should, Obiwan. The last of the council we are."

------

When they had closed the door of the dimly lit chamber behind them and had taken seats on the hassocks, Obiwan asked, "You said we were the last of the council. Are we certain? None of the others survived?"

Master Yoda bowed his head.

"No council members," he said. "No ... masters. Some knights there are who survived. Those with padawans not at the temple. And a few others who on remote outposts were stationed."

"How many?"

"About a hundred," was the reply. "Maybe some more."

It was a pitiful few, Anakin knew. Order 66 had been swiftly executed; almost over before it was canceled. If only he'd realized what was happening sooner, he might have saved them.

"Berate yourself not, Anakin," Master Yoda told him. "None of us Palpatine's treachery saw. Thankful we are that defeat him you did. But now heal the republic and Jedi order must. Forward we must look to prevent this from happening again."

_I should still have seen it,_ Anakin thought. _I was the Chosen One. I knew what he ..._

"Anakin," Yoda said. "Would you still a Jedi be? A master on the council?"

"A master?" he asked, the irony of the offer not lost on him. He'd wanted the position before more because he'd thought it would better prepare him to do his job as the Chosen One (and most recently because he'd thought he might find some 'masters only' knowledge that could save Padme), than for the prestige. Not that he hadn't wanted the prestige - he had, though he couldn't imagine why now. The offer held no interest for him whatsoever, and he said so. "I'm in violation of the code, anyway," he added.

Master Yoda sighed. "The code to serve the Jedi was created. The Force" - he gestured to the space around him with his hand - "the Jedi served, with the guidelines of the code to aid them. But the Jedi began instead to serve the code. The Force less and less heard was, and the darkness into us crept."

For Anakin, this came oddly as no surprise, but he couldn't help feeling Obiwan's astonishment.

"Then the code is wrong?" he asked.

"Not wrong, no," Yoda clarified. "But wrongly used. If the voice of the Force against the rules of the code spoke, listen to it we did not."

"In other words, you were meant to be with Padme," Obiwan said. Anakin noted that he was looking at Master Yoda, however, and not him, and that Master Yoda nodded. Unfortunately, as much as he ached to - wanted with all his heart to believe it was so - he could not agree.

"No," he said. "In that instance, the code was right. It was because of my love for her that I almost turned. I was too afraid of losing her."_ I still am afraid,_ he admitted to himself. _Not that she will die immediately in childbirth, but that she will eventually die, as all beings do. And that I will be able to do nothing, except die myself._ This he was willing to do, but he could not imagine the universe existing without Padme in it. How could she simply cease? He fought against a renewed rush of tears.

"Letting fear control you wrong was," Yoda observed. "But also Padme's presence required was. Know this I do; meditated on it I have, though much still to learn is." The tiny master thumped his stick on the floor. "But forward we now must go! Think you I could not sit and my own guilt contemplate? But where that would get us, hmm? To the future we must now look."

Anakin looked away. Simple guilt at not knowing the Sith were among them he could accept; as Master Yoda said, they had all shared it, and if he were honest, even though he'd been the closest to the chancellor, they made up for that closeness with their experience. For that, they shared equal guilt, and he thought he could go forward from that, were it the only problem. But it was not. He bore - would always bear - the guilt for knowing he would have betrayed them all, if not for a warning dream. Steeling himself against the revulsion and disappointment he knew they would feel, he told them of what he would have done and why, and how he would have betrayed them all except that what he'd wanted from the Sith did not exist.

When he finished, he stared unseeing at a line in the carpet. For a moment, no one said anything and he dreaded the silence until he realized no judgment lay buried in it. From the masters he felt no disgust, but instead a deep sympathy and understanding. At last, Yoda spoke.

"So certain are you that betray us you would if the Sith had this power?" he asked. "Even knowing what of you would be required to obtain it?"

"I saw myself, Master Yoda," he said miserably. "I must believe it."

Master Yoda leaned forward. "The self you saw knew not what the Sith would require until too late it was," he said. "Tell me, if Senator Amidala about to die was and the only way to save her annihilate the Jedi - including the younglings; including Obiwan - was, kill them, you could?"

Anakin thought about it, visualizing the scenario in his mind. He didn't think he could; it seemed an impossible situation, one with no way to win, and the more he considered it, the less likely he thought he'd be able to survive himself. His thought process would refuse to work; either outcome was so horrible he didn't want to imagine it. But could he really know just from thinking about it? If he was actually in the situation, might it not be different?

Obiwan's measured, soothing voice cut into his thoughts, trying to reassure, but his words chilled Anakin's heart: "Anakin, unless you were under some compulsion, you could never kill the younglings," he said softly. "I've seen you with them; you love children. It wouldn't happen; you couldn't kill a child."

Anakin's eyes met those of his master, dread filling his soul. The root of his fear, his agony, his guilt had been unearthed. He would have to finally tell them. And once they knew, the love he now felt from his master would be gone when he turned away in revulsion. Tears blurred his vision as he pressed what he felt of that love to his heart and blessed it before taking a deep breath, and said, his voice cracking, "I already have."


	18. Chapter 18

Obiwan heard the words, but his mind refused to believe them. _When_ had Anakin killed a child? When _could_ he have, when he, Obiwan, would not have known about it?_ It's more of his might-have-beens,_ he told himself. _Or some mis-parried blaster bolt gone astray._ Though he didn't really believe the last; his brother was too good of a swordsman.

After the short confession, Anakin sat in silence, his eyes fastened on the floor, mouth working as if he could not possibly get the rest of what he had to say out of himself. His features twisted in internal agony, his breathing became stentorian, and he finally seemed to give up and bury his face in his hands. _It must be his might-have-beens,_ thought Obiwan._ That's how he was on Mustafar, when I first got there._ He was just about to offer reassurance, when Master Yoda spoke.

"Tell us you must, Anakin," he said gently, "Carried too long this burden you have."

_Master Yoda knew about this?_ With shocked amazement, Obiwan looked back at his former padawan, who nodded to acknowledge the ancient master's words.

"On Tatooine," he murmured, almost too quietly to be heard. "When my mother died."

_Then!_ He _hadn't_ been with him then! And Anakin had been extraordinarily closed-mouthed about that incident. Obiwan knew only that his mother had died - been killed by some native tribal band. When he'd found out, he'd felt so terrible for dismissing Anakin's dreams that he hadn't thought it right to formally reprimand his padawan for disobeying an order (though he'd still reproached him privately). But how did killing a child come into it? Had he needed to in order to reach his mother in the first place? If so, why hadn't he ever mentioned it before? He had to know his master would understand.

"In such terrible pain you were," Master Yoda acknowledged softly. "Felt it, I did."

"I killed them," Anakin whispered, his gaze still locked on the floor. "All of them."

_All? All of whom?_ Obiwan was suddenly lost. This couldn't be true. Anakin could never kill children - he'd seen him with the younglings; it was the only time he'd ever seen his brother exhibit any kind of patience; it was what made him think, more than anything, that he would one day be an exemplary Jedi, as he had told him before leaving for Utapau. He looked back at Master Yoda, hoping for some explanation, but the old master paid no attention to him; all his concern was directed at Anakin, who went inexplicably on with his confession to an impossible deed.

"I couldn't stop myself," he said. "I didn't _want_ to stop myself. I _hated_ them." His voice grew stronger. "I _still_ hate them!!" he spat venomously, before burying his face in his hands, gasping. Obiwan could see him still visibly trembling.

_Trembling with what? Rage? Remorse?_ He hadn't sounded remorseful. He'd sounded vindictive. Obiwan felt oddly disconnected from the scene, as if he were watching a dramatization on the holovid; as if a stranger had suddenly inhabited his brother's body. But no._ No. That's how I want to feel, but I know ..._ He knew - had always known somewhere in the back of his mind - that Anakin would be capable of intense fits of rage, if he ever let go. Was that what the council had seen when he had first come? Should he have listened to their reason instead of giving into his grief and insisting his own master's last wish be fulfilled? No, that wasn't right, either. What was right, then?

"Tried to stop you, Master Jinn did," Yoda told him. "Heard him you did not. In too much pain you were; the dark side only could you feel."

_Qui-Gon?_ Obiwan recalled what he'd said about Anakin when he'd sensed his old master's presence on the transport ship: "It will take him some time to completely heal. He will need you to help him through that." _And I said 'of course,'_ he thought. _But how? How can I help him with this? He is still angry, even after all this time. And I can't even imagine it. I don't know what to do. _

In his mind, a familiar voice whispered, _You don't have to do anything, Obiwan. Just be there for him. That is what he needs from you. The help he must get from himself._

In front of him, at almost the same time, Anakin, who had looked up only momentarily at the mention of Qui-Gon, surprise in his eyes, said, "I don't deserve to be a Jedi."

Yoda did not reply. Obiwan saw that he was lost in deep thought, his eyes seemingly focused on the dust motes dancing in a sunbeam that lanced its way through the closed blinds._ He can't be going to agree,_ he thought in dismay. _Anakin still has the anger; that won't help any more than his ignoring it has._ He didn't want to hear the rejection he was sure was coming; he couldn't wait.

"Anakin," he said gently, "What happened with your mother? You told me that she died; that she'd been killed by the tribal people on Tatooine. But that's all I know. Have you ever told anyone the whole story?"

At the sound of his name, Anakin had started, but not looked up, though for a moment he turned his head in Obiwan's direction.

"I ... I told Padme," he said. "And ..." - he hesitated, and Obiwan saw his face alter as he squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his hands - "and Palpatine." He turned away.

_Palpatine!_ The implications of such a confession threatened to momentarily overwhelm him. But Anakin was continuing as if he'd already realized those implications himself, all too well ...

"I told him I didn't think I was fit to be a Jedi; that I was still angry. I told him I was thinking about leaving the order. He ... he talked me out of it," he said. "But I ... I wanted to be talked out of it. That was why I told him and not the Jedi."

Obiwan tried to push aside the slight; the part of him that wondered why Anakin could not have at least confided in him, if not the others. It wasn't relevant now; he could almost hear Qui-Gon telling him so. Now he had to focus on breaking that silence.

"Anakin," he asked quietly, "How exactly did your mother die?"

For a moment, his former padawan sat unmoving; then a shudder ran through his body. He swallowed. His mouth worked; once or twice he seemed to begin to speak, but stopped.

"Anakin?"

"She ..." he whispered. He seemed unable to go on.

"Can you start at the beginning?" Obiwan suggested. "When you first got to Tatooine?"

The younger man nodded, and began, haltingly, to tell them the story of how he'd discovered his mother had been freed from slavery by a moisture farmer who married her, and that he and Padme had tracked her to their home near the Dune Sea by Mos Eisley.

"He said ... he said the Sand People had captured her. She'd been gone a month." He sat rigidly still, staring straight ahead at a memory. "They'd tried to find her but too many got killed; he'd lost his leg trying."

"A month ..." Obiwan whispered to himself. _He had the dreams for about a month before it happened. If I'd let him go sooner ..._

Anakin had apparently not heard him speak and continued on, "I went out alone and tracked them; it took most of the night. They were encamped at the mouth of a canyon. I snuck in; it wasn't hard. I could tell which tent she was in; I felt ..." His face twisted up with pain; tears formed in his eyes and spilled down his cheeks. "I cut a hole in the back with my lightsaber and went in. She was ... she was tied to a sort of travois propped up on the center tent pole so she couldn't lay down. Her wrists were bleeding, and ... and her mouth. There were welts on her face." He stopped for a moment, closing his eyes. Obiwan could see his jaw working as he ground his teeth together. After a bit, he went on, "I untied her and she sort of fell into my arms. She ... she didn't weigh hardly anything; she was all bones, but ... but she was very stiff, as if she ... as if ... as if she was hurt to badly to move. She ... she recognized me, and ... and t-touched my face. I ..." He stopped and put his head in his hands, exhaling in a ragged sob. For a few moments he remained that way, silently crying, and then, without looking up, continued, "I tried to tell her it was okay; that it would be all right, that I was there to s-save her, but I don't think she could hear me. She was ... she said ..." He stopped again to collect himself before going on, "When I first left her, when I was nine, she asked me if I knew if I'd ever see her again. I tried to look in the Force and see, but it wasn't clear. It seemed like maybe I would, but there was something not quite right about it; I didn't know what. So I told her, 'I guess so.'" He stopped. Obiwan saw him swallow. "I could tell by what she said to me that she'd only been hanging on because of that. S-she ... she believed in me so ... so m..." He began sobbing uncontrollably and had to stop, burying his face in his hands. At length, he regained some control of himself and said, "And then she died. She just went limp in my arms, and I felt ... I felt ... I felt the Force take her." His face twisted, but he kept on, "Like there was a hole where she'd been. Gone." He started to shake, and suddenly pounded his fist on the hassock. "And I couldn't stop it!" he spat. "I couldn't ... I couldn't save her." He folded his arms tightly in front of him and began rocking back and forth.

Obiwan stared at his tortured padawan, his own heart breaking. If only he'd allowed him to act sooner; he should have known the recurring dream was a portent. Why had he been so insistent that it was identical to what he'd experienced? He'd been so much younger then; Anakin had been an adult, if not a full Jedi, past his trials. If he'd paid attention, they could have gone together. The entire tragedy could have been avoided.

_Qui-Gon,_ he thought. _You said I needed to be here for him, but what can I possibly give? He blames me for it, for not letting him go when he could still save her; I remember how he was when he returned. He didn't say what happened, but I still should have known. I should have asked._

He waited, hoping for a response, but none came. Nor had Master Yoda moved from his position. The only sound he could hear was his padawan softly crying.


	19. Chapter 19

Anakin wept. His mother had been dead for three years, but the wound her death had left was still as fresh as the night it had happened. Guilt haunted him as well as loss; guilt for the lives of the children he'd killed that night - which he'd known even as he'd cut them down was wrong - guilt for not being able to bend the Force to his will to save her, and guilt for not heeding his warning dreams sooner. He sat, folded into a ball of unrelenting torture, rocking himself in the meditation chamber, oblivious to the masters who sat helplessly beside him. But it was guilt only. The white heat of rage he'd always felt surrounding the memory was gone. He no longer felt hate for the Sand People, only a vague, dead sense of incomprehension mixed with loss at his mother's senseless death.

Although he had been physically healed, he had not come to the temple at his full strength, and it didn't take him long to exhaust himself with his grief. As the tenseness in his muscles and the self-castigation in his mind lessened through sheer weariness, he became once again aware of the presence of the two masters near him. From Master Yoda he sensed an odd understanding - he'd been surprised to learn that Master Yoda had known something was wrong all along. But he was fearful of opening himself to his own master, afraid of what he would find; afraid of the rejection he was certain would come. Yet a part of him - the part wracked by the guilt of committing an un-Jedilike act - knew he deserved such a rejection. He was no Jedi; he never had been. He had never deserved to become one. So, steeling himself, he opened his mind to Obiwan and to the punishment he knew would follow.

_Sadness, regret, incomprehension, concern, failure, guilt._ He felt all of these assail him. But stronger than any of them, running beneath the surface emotions, he also felt love. _He still loves me, _Anakin thought as a flush of warmth coursed through him and tears welled up freshly from eyes he'd thought run dry. _He still loves me._

For awhile, Anakin sat with his face held in his hands, still crying, though now he wept tears of relief and release. Gradually, as the fear of rejection he'd been stifling for the past three years ebbed away, he accepted the painful feelings from his master, acknowledging them as his just due. Except for one - guilt. Why would Obiwan feel guilt for what he, Anakin, had done?

With regret, he remembered then how he had blamed his master for his mother's death; insisting he was accountable for holding him back when he should have gone to her immediately. But he had never voiced that blame to Obiwan; had his master sensed it nonetheless? Slowly, he looked up to meet the older man's tortured eyes.

"It's not your fault, Obiwan," he told him, his voice barely achieving more than a half-whisper, though it was loud enough in the quiet room. "I know I blamed you at the time. But it wasn't your fault."

"I should have known the dreams you had were not normal, Anakin," came the soft reply. "We should have gone together from the start."

"No," he insisted. "I disobeyed you when I finally went to Tatooine. I could have disobeyed you and gone any time; it was up to me. My choice. You ..." he stopped, feeling his way now through unfamiliar territory. There was something Obiwan felt, not about him exactly, but it contributed to the guilt. A memory of something else, long ago. His thoughts as well as his emotions came through, so strong were they: Qui-Gon and ... Obiwan's dreams. _Dreams pass. _Told to Obiwan as a young padawan, still a child. What Obiwan had repeated to him. _Dreams pass._ Dreams about his mother. Obiwan's mother. Obiwan had been worried about his own mother, long ago. Before Anakin had even been born.

He fought the urge to get up and comfort his master with a hug or any other sort of physical contact since he knew from personal experience that such demonstrations only made the older man uncomfortable. But, unable to _not_ take action, he sent his own love for Obiwan through the Force to him, and felt, rather than saw, it strike its target. At the same time he heard Obiwan gasp. Wondering if he might have thrown too much at his master at once, he stopped focusing what he felt, and simply let it radiate out into the room.

Master Yoda spoke: "Found yourself you have, hmm?" he said. "So, now. Once again, a Jedi would you be?"

_Found myself?_ he wondered. The self who could kill an entire tribe for revenge in a futile attempt to salve his own pain and guilt? That self was not a Jedi, and he quietly acknowledged it.

"Not that self, no," the old master agreed. "A padawan that was. Not a Jedi. Merely a learner. Learned, have you?"

_Learned, yes, but at what price?_ The universe could not afford the cost to train such a Jedi as he. He turned to look at Master Yoda. In the quiet brown eyes, he saw peace, the forbearance of one who has lived long and seen much. But he also saw - or rather he felt, as the ancient master permitted him a glimpse of a memory - an old pain from ages past when the council head was very young. It was healed now, but the imprint remained:_ Fire, destruction, a planet slowly torn asunder._ And the uncontrolled rage against the injustice by one of the planet's small native inhabitants, strong in the Force. A garrison of the enemy outworlders, big and clumsy, but physically powerful. More than half were conscripts, slaves to the will of their overlords, who would gladly have laid down their arms once freed. Some of them actually had. But in the heartbreak of his loss, he had cut them all down without regard.

_Master Yoda?_ Anakin thought, unable to accept that the wise head of the order had once been like him.

_The price already paid has been,_ came the answer. _If learned from it you did, would you the lesson waste?_

_No,_ he thought. _But ..._ Did he want to be a Jedi now? Even with his marriage allowed, could he do it? It had taken him away from Padme so often - too often. It was true, the war was over now, but he was also about to become a father. Could he stand to spend the time away a Jedi must, even in peacetime? He didn't know.

"Think on it you will," the old master told him.

------

Anakin's channeled outpouring of love struck Obiwan with surprise, making his eyes sting and taking his breath away. Awash in the white-hot fire that burned brighter than the surface of the sun, he felt overwhelmed, rudderless, in sheer awe of the strength of power surging around and through him. In it he felt his friend, his padawan, his brother, but also, behind that, a sense of something infinite that shook him. Anakin seemed to sense this unease, and dimmed his light, backing away slightly until Obiwan could breathe again, though he didn't let go.

_Found yourself, you have, hmm?_ he heard both within his head and without.

For just a moment, he continued to flounder, then discovered himself, curiously twice; no, three times - once in his own perception, again in his brother's, and yet again, though much more muted, in that of his childhood teacher. This triad of viewpoints, older, younger, and self, presented for him a clear picture of the man he'd come to be: An anchor of much-needed stability and security; a shining example of fairness and just cause, what the Jedi were held to be; and a much-beloved combination of father, brother, and dear friend. A dedicated student grown into the fullness of his early promise; a colleague whose progressive influence and outlook were especially welcome in an age when the order had grown somewhat rigid in its thinking; and a master - the only other one - that the will of the Force had spared from the purge. His own view reminded him of his shortcomings and that he still had a long way to go. _But at what cost? _he asked himself.

_The price already paid has been. Would you the lesson waste?_

No. _Self-recrimination and guilt are unworthy of a Jedi._ He could hear his own master, Qui-Gon, saying it. _They serve no useful purpose. Nor does regret. Learn from your mistakes, Obiwan, but do not dwell on them unnecessarily._

"Think on it you will," he heard Master Yoda's voice say before returning to his meditation.

With the old master's withdrawal, Obiwan once more became overtly aware of his former padawan's intense Force-presence. He wasn't sure why it surprised him; he'd known all along that Anakin was the Chosen One and so possessed more Force-sensitivity than any living Jedi. Possibly, he thought, because his brother's light had been so faint when he'd found him in the chancellor's office, and on those two occasions when he'd had to call him back while in the hospital. He'd known intellectually that Anakin had been near death then. Exactly how near was now evident. A chill ran down his spine in spite of (or possibly somewhat because of?) the outpouring of warmth and love his brother was radiating into the room. And he thought,_ Was that what he felt from me that kept him alive?_ His eyes met Anakin's, and in that moment, he knew.

But he also knew, or could sense now, that while his padawan had begun the healing of his soul, he had, in the process, pushed himself past his still-diminished physical capacity. He was completely and totally exhausted.

"Padme is going to kill me," he said.

"I'm fine, Obiwan," Anakin protested, but his eyelids drooped, belying his words.

Obiwan stood up and went over to him.

"You're not going to make it back to Padme's apartment unless I carry you," he observed. "Can you make it up to your quarters here?"

"I think so," came the reply, but he made no move to rise. After a moment, Obiwan took him by the arm and pulled him to his feet.

"Are you sure you can make it?" he asked dubiously.

Again, his friend nodded, and arm in arm, they left the meditation chamber and crossed the nave. But when they got to the grand staircase, Anakin stopped.

"Those stairs look comfortable," he observed.

"Oh, no, you don't," Obiwan told him. "You're going all the way up to your quarters; it's not that much farther." He stopped for a moment, then added playfully, "You do know where they are, don't you? I forgot you probably never slept there."

Anakin looked sideways at him.

"Yes, I did," he protested. "Once or twice." Then his lips twitched. They both laughed. Obiwan nudged him forward, with a bit of assistance from the Force, and they started up the steps.

"This reminds me of Cato Nemoidia," the older man offered. A moment of silence passed.

"No it doesn't," came the quiet reply.

"No?"

"No."

"I think it does," Obiwan insisted. "Of course, our roles were reversed then."

Another moment passed.

"I am _not_ drugged," Anakin announced in a voice of mock dignity at the same moment that his foot slipped. They both would have gone tumbling if they hadn't both also reached out with the Force in tandem to steady themselves.

"Well," the older man observed dryly, "Same effect."

"Is it?"

"Mmm Hmm."

"Okay."

Obiwan waited for him to say something more. They were nearly to his room; he could see the door just ahead. He wondered if Anakin had fallen asleep on his feet; the closer they had gotten, the more heavily his brother leaned on him. Finally, as they reached the threshold, he prompted quietly, "'Okay?'"

Anakin leaned against the doorjamb, his eyes barely open, and regarded his master thoughtfully. Finally he smiled lopsidedly and said, "It doesn't count then."

They both laughed again.

Obiwan started to help him over to the sleeping mat, but the younger man suddenly turned into an immovable object.

"Obiwan?" he said.

"Yes, Anakin?" he replied, stopping himself from trying to bodily push his brother into the room. Something in the younger man's tone had changed; he was no longer joking around.

"If I came back, what would ..." he began, "I mean, do you know, what I ... what Master Yoda would want me to do?"

Obiwan considered the question. There were many things that needed to be done, and he was sure they would both be required to be active in fulfilling them. But to be honest, Master Yoda had so far mentioned only one.

"I'm sure it isn't the only thing," he replied, "but I know he'd like you to train one of the younglings as your padawan."

He felt rather than saw the astonishment run through Anakin's body, and realized they were still connected to each other emotionally. But he didn't comprehend how much the simple request had moved his brother until he knew his eyes stung with tears and he felt the lump rise in his throat.

Suddenly pliable again, Anakin allowed Obiwan to lead him to the sleeping mat, where he fell immediately into a deep sleep.


	20. Chapter 20

"The temple will be sending a representative over to tonight's session for the deposition," Bail announced. He'd entered the committee room only a few moments before, where those sympathetic to allowing the Separatists to rejoin the republic without censure were meeting. "I just thought you'd like to be notified." As he spoke, Padme thought his eyes seemed to linger on her a moment longer than the others. _Does he know?_ she wondered.

The idea that he might didn't fill her with trepidation as it would have a week ago. In fact, now she wanted to scream her love for Anakin to the room; to run out into the rotunda and shout about it in front of the entire assembly. But she did not. The only concession she'd made was to no longer attempt to hide her pregnancy.

When she'd first joined them, their stares had seemed curious and she'd been certain someone would inquire about it. But they'd averted their eyes, too polite to ask about something that should have been obvious long before today. Or, she admitted, too polite to ask her about something they'd known she'd been trying to hide up until this point. And now, after working on the legislation all afternoon, she had simply become part of the scenery, her condition forgotten, or at least dismissed as irrelevant, in the rush to finish the painstaking wording of the bill.

Mon Mothma turned to Bail.

"How much more time have we got?" she asked.

"Not long," he replied. "If you need a break, now is the time. I think I can safely say that what you're working on won't come up until tomorrow, at the earliest."

Mon pursed her lips; Padme knew she'd wanted it pushed through as quickly as possible before the opposition had more time to gather strength. Around them, the committee began to break up, and the senator from Chandrila sighed and leaned back, accepting that her headlong rush to pass the legislation before morning was not going to happen. Padme felt Bail squeeze her shoulder, and she looked up in time to see him wink at her just before he disappeared out into the hallway.

_So he does know!_ she thought, then immediately second-guessed herself with,_ Or was he just winking about me no longer hiding it?_ Not that it really mattered, though she found herself wishing that at least one other person here knew.

"Looks like that's it for today, then," she heard Mon say, and looked back at the other woman, who, like her, was still sitting at the conference table. The others had all risen. Most had left; the remainder were engaged in deep conversations with each other, still rehashing bits of the bill they'd been engineering - or bits of bills engineered in the past. But Mon was still regarding her speculatively. "Please don't take this the wrong way," she finally said, "And if I am in any way out of line, just tell me. But I can't help but think that if I myself went to a great deal of trouble to hide something and then suddenly one day stopped hiding it, I'd probably be quite disappointed if no one said anything about it."

Padme's eyes widened and she glanced involuntarily down at her huge stomach, made all the more enormous by the dress she'd chosen: the fuzzy purple one she'd never before worn out in public because it made her look bigger than she actually was. She laughed.

"I guess I am, sort of," she admitted. "It's just that it's hard to imagine it's so inconsequential to everyone else, when it's so incredibly important to me."

Mon smiled.

"You're still allowed to make an announcement, you know," she said.

"I know," replied Padme. "And I had intended to, until I realized that it might take too much attention away from the reunification bill."

Mon raised her eyebrows.

"I think maybe you're still assigning it too much importance in other peoples' minds," she said. "It might cause some concern on Naboo, but it's doubtful it would anywhere else. None of the other systems has a law anything like Naboo's that allows only unattached people to serve in office; they wouldn't comprehend that a scandal might exist."

_Oh yes they would,_ thought Padme, wondering now if Mon might look down on her once she knew the whole story. Anakin's defiant words, _our baby is a blessing_, came back to her, and she understood now why he hadn't wanted to tell Obiwan. Their love for each other was - would be - considered a moral failing, one she (and Anakin, she knew) might have accepted if it had been only them. But she refused to think that of Luke - he_was_ a blessing, as his father had said, not some mistake that should never have been made. She'd have to be strong for his sake, not live her life in shame. Out loud, she said, "It's not ... that's not the reason."

------

Mon Mothma heard Padme's disclaimer with surprise, and, well, she had to admit it, avid curiosity. She'd known for a couple of months now that her fellow senator had to be pregnant, and, in trying to trace some reasonable cause for the other woman to conceal it (or try to) had discovered the unusual Naboo law. She'd been so certain that must be the reason that even now, she half expected it to turn out that way, despite Padme's demur.

"Not the main reason, anyway," she was continuing, almost convincing Mon she'd been right all along anyway, until she added, "Although I admit I did want to stay on Coruscant."

_Stay on Coruscant?_ But not necessarily in the senate. That did turn matters around; the situation was not as she'd expected. "Because the father lives here?" she asked out loud, though she knew what the answer had to be before she saw Padme's nod. Why had she assumed he was some anonymous face on Naboo? But she still could think of no likely local candidate whose identity would create enough of a scandal to drown out Palpatine. Because, though she wouldn't say so to Padme's face, being the senator from the ex-chancellor's home planet was probably enough of a handicap by itself, for all that she'd had no control over it. If the opposition chose to play dirty (and she thought there was an excellent chance that it would), the Naboo senator's support of reunification would be labeled as a continuation of Palpatine's favoritism (if one could really call it that) towards the Separatist systems.

"My husband lives here," Padme clarified. "We _are_ married."

So there was not even that outmoded morality issue to contend with. What then? It was painfully obvious that despite her decision to stop trying to hide her condition, she was still uncomfortable revealing the details of her marriage. What could she say to draw her out?

Some motion near the door, behind and to the left of Padme, drew her eye; the room had been emptied of all except the two women for a little while now. Mon looked up to see the Jedi Master Kenobi standing there. _Of course,_ she thought, _Bail said someone from the temple would be coming. But why would he come here, to this room?_

Then, behind Master Kenobi, she saw someone else, a taller man. _Anakin Skywalker!_ she thought. _It can't be!_ He'd had to be rushed to the hospital after his fight with the ex-chancellor, and from the last report she'd heard (which admittedly was early this morning) he was still there. She regarded him with not a little awe - most people would, she thought, after seeing the scene on the holovid. Realizing she was openly staring at him, she started to look away until she saw he hadn't once looked at her. The older Jedi Master stepped aside, and as he came fully into the room, Padme suddenly rose from her chair and ran to him.

_OH!_

Mon was stunned. She was very glad she was sitting down. THIS was Padme's secret lover ... husband. A man so forbidden his likelihood as a candidate had never even entered Mon's mind. No wonder she'd been hesitant to talk about it. No wonder she had tried to hide her pregnancy. It _would_ be a major scandal, just as she'd said. Mon wondered what the general reaction would be, then stopped herself. What was _her_ reaction? Certainly not revulsion or even contempt. They stood holding each other, not with desire, but both as if the other were made of fragile glass, their eyes locked.

"What are you doing here?" Padme said to him. "I thought Obiwan was taking you right back to the apartment. You need to rest."

"I rested at the temple," he told her softly. "I have to make a statement in the rotunda tonight. How are you - are _you_ okay?"

For answer she touched his face in a gesture so intimate Mon had to finally avert her gaze. She'd been taught all her life that the Jedi took oaths of celibacy and never forsook them. If asked before now, she'd have declared the idea of pairing with one blasphemous, or at least highly offensive. Now she doubted she would ever be able to look at a Jedi in the same light again.

Her eyes strayed to Master Kenobi, who was stroking his beard, looking thoughtful, and she looked hastily away. _No,_ she thought, _I don't find their relationship offensive at all. It shocks me, yes, but not in a bad way. In fact ... in fact it only adds to the mystique he started with the destruction of Palpatine on the holovid, like it continues some epic tale._

The thought stopped her. Padme had been afraid revealing the relationship would draw attention from the reunification bill. That bill was not yet ready to go before the senate, but she knew the opposition wouldn't wait for their bid to gather strength. The stunning announcement would draw attention from everything equally. Mon almost hated herself for using what she couldn't help but now view as an epic love story in such a profane way. Almost. But she didn't think Padme would mind. The balance of the republic was at stake.


	21. Chapter 21

Anakin and Obiwan sat alone in the pod that hovered before the chancellor's podium in the rotunda. The senate was in session and the house was packed as it had rarely been in recent history. The Separatists had returned and now occupied their historic seats, although Obiwan knew the voting functions in those particular pods had been disabled pending a resolution on their reinstatement in the republic. He felt somewhat comforted to see Bail Organa in the role of chancellor, though he knew it was somewhat of a false comfort. They were there to give a deposition on the Jedi's failure to identify Palpatine as a threat at the onset. Organa would mediate the deposition, but he could not shut out the questions of those hostile to the order without being accused of favoritism. He was a fair man, however, and Obiwan thought that at least with him in control of the proceedings, the factions friendly to the order would have an equal say.

Obiwan turned to look at his former padawan, who sat quietly beside him, his cloak wrapped tightly around him. He'd slept all afternoon at the temple, finally awakening just as Obiwan was about to leave to come here, and when he'd heard what was about to happen, insisted he had to come along. The Jedi Master had tried to stop him; his former student still looked too pale to him, his face somewhat gaunt. Obviously, he hadn't entirely recovered, and Obiwan knew this evening's session was bound to be grueling. Yet Master Yoda had agreed with Anakin's wishes, saying that for him to attend would help them both. Outnumbered, Obiwan had acquiesced, consoling himself with the thought that at least Padme had been - was - here; there was no doubt in his mind now that she'd been entirely necessary for his brother's recovery.

Chancellor Organa signaled that the deposition would begin. The acting Vice Chair (Obiwan didn't know his name) called the session to order.

"Tonight's session begins the senate inquiry into former Chancellor Palpatine's attempted takeover of the Galactic Republic," the acting chancellor began. "We will commence by hearing the statements from the Jedi Order. A copy of the written deposition provided by the Jedi Council head, Master Yoda, was previously provided for each of you. Two representatives of the Council are now with us to answer any questions you may have about that deposition."

Obiwan felt Anakin stiffen at the words _'two representatives of the Council_.' He glanced over at his former padawan reassuringly, seeing the sudden alarm in his eyes.

"But I'm not ..." he started to whisper.

"It's okay," Obiwan whispered back. "It's just a technicality. You are a representative, if not a member."

His friend didn't say any more about it, but he could tell the appellation still bothered him. Anakin hadn't yet agreed to return to the order, yet Obiwan knew that wasn't the issue here. At issue with his brother would be the technicality that - at the time of the ex-chancellor's death - he had not been a member.

The older man was more concerned with the fact that Anakin really did not have a good grasp on the actual content of Master Yoda's deposition. He'd tried to read it on the way over from the temple to the rotunda, but had finally given up, admitting he was unable to concentrate on it. Then again, Obiwan thought he was probably more concerned about Anakin's admission.

"The chair recognizes the senator from Nadiripon," Organa stated, interrupting his thoughts

------.

A pod rushed out immediately into the center and hung beside the Jedi. Its main occupant, a well-fed middle-aged Iriponi with a luxurious braid of blue chin-whiskers, leaned forward anxiously. Obiwan braced; he knew the Iriponi seat had been one Palpatine had cultivated.

"We would like to know," he began, his question carefully worded and rehearsed (since each representative was allowed only one), "Why, if Palpatine was a Sith Lord and therefore Force-sensitive, and since the Jedi actively seek out the Force-sensitive in the systems of the republic, of which Naboo is one, the Jedi were not aware of his presence - or at least his Force-sensitivity - before he was elected to office?"

The senior Jedi glanced at Anakin, who sat quietly, aware that this was something Obiwan would have to answer, not him. Still, he felt some odd distress in his brother that he couldn't quite place, and which he had no time to pursue. Now he had to focus on answering as best he could. But even Obiwan had been no more than a youngling when Palpatine was first elected. He tried to best compose his reply in the short time he had while the senator's pod returned to its dock. It wasn't long before he heard the formal words from Organa: "The senate will hear the Jedi's reply to the question."

Obiwan took a deep breath. "For the first part of my answer," he said, "I would like to state that the Jedi have never _required_ the Force-sensitive to be tested, nor do we keep dossiers on children tested whose parents declined to send them to the temple for training - as we do not keep dossiers on any other citizens of the republic ..."

------

Anakin listened halfheartedly to his brother's reply, his focus instead tuned to the atmosphere of the senate chamber. The emotions of the thousands of beings in the rotunda assailed him, but did not overrun him as he'd been afraid they would earlier. He still felt what they felt, but the newfound connection he had to his brother had forged an extra layer of insulation against the feelings of the masses. Their feelings were muted, dampened - well, except for one. Though she sat on the opposite side of the rotunda, Padme's presence was as clear and strong to him as Obiwan's. She was worried about him (so was Obiwan), but there was nothing he could really do about that except continue on as he was. His experience earlier today in the temple had convinced him that the surest and quickest way to completely recover was to face squarely head-on everything he'd previously denied. Palpatine's death was one of those things; he still had no recollection of the event, although he'd been told the details of the encounter. He hoped tonight might precipitate a return of that memory. (And on a more mundane level, he hoped it would satisfy most, if not all, of the news cameras that had suddenly found it necessary to follow him everywhere.)

Obiwan was expertly wrapping up the answer to the Iriponi's question, managing, as he always somehow did, to address what needed to be said without assigning blame to any of the parties. He knew Padme had become anxious at the question; though she'd no doubt known in advance that Naboo would be a likely target for attack. But Obiwan hadn't become known as 'The Negotiator' for nothing. In Anakin's opinion, at least, he was the best at what he did, and if ... _And if ..._

He caught his breath, the understanding of his own purpose in the rotunda tonight unfolding before him: He was, as he had always been, Obiwan's enforcer, the one who took the lead when negotiations turned aggressive. Something about that role felt wrong; he'd oddly known this on some subliminal level as soon as he'd understood the true meaning of his dream-visions. He could no longer fight with - would no longer allow himself to fight with - a lightsaber or any other weapon. But was he meant to play that role tonight in some as yet undetermined way? He suspected now that Master Yoda thought so. He only wished he were as sure of his role as the diminutive Council Head appeared to be.

He heard Bail Organa give the floor to the senator from Humbarine. As that system's pod approached, he felt a reserved amount of fear and trepidation radiating from her, although he felt no hostility along with that as he had from the Iriponi. She stopped her pod farther away than had the previous senator, though still close enough for her to see the Jedi clearly.

The slight human woman tabbed a button on her control panel to activate her microphone. Anakin felt her brace herself for the question; she was clearly (to him) afraid to ask it, though when she spoke, no fear was present in her voice or her outward manner.

"We would like to know," she began, "given that Count Dooku was once a Jedi, and given that he evidently willingly became an apprentice of a Sith Lord, what measures were in place to prevent this abuse of Jedi power and where those measures failed; or if no measures were in place, why they were not, and what is being done now to correct this problem?"

Obiwan was taken aback by the question, though on the surface, he covered his surprise well. Anakin reached forward and switched off the microphone, which had been left on from the previous response. He turned to look at his brother.

"That isn't really a question about anything covered in Master Yoda's deposition about Palpatine," whispered Obiwan. " I'm sure it will come up; I'm sure it _has_ come up, but ..." - he broke off as if reading Anakin's mind (_and maybe he did_, thought Anakin) - "no, I can't just tell them that. It would look bad; as if we're trying to hide something from them. And Senator Breemu wasn't in Palpatine's faction; her name was on the Petition of 2000."

"You could tell them the 'it has come up but' part. They ought to understand that, at least."

"But what then? I've still got the problem that if I allow this, then I open the proceedings to a lot of unrelated questions I'm not prepared to answer. But I can't insult her, either."

_This is it,_ Anakin suddenly thought. _The negotiations have broken down. This is the moment_. "It will be all right," he said automatically.

"That's reassuring."

"No, it will," he insisted. "Just say the 'it has come up but' part. I'll take care of the rest."

He felt Obiwan's apprehension. Not that he could blame him; he'd never held any illusion about being a diplomat himself; never been able to comprehend why adults couldn't just speak plainly to each other. He'd accepted that such a thing 'just wasn't done' in politics by keeping himself out of verbal negotiations completely. Now, however, he thought his way _would_ work, would have the result Obiwan wanted it to. _Please trust me this time, Obiwan,_ he thought. There wasn't time for much else; the senator's pod had returned to its dock and all eyes were now on them

------.

Obiwan groaned inwardly, but even as his hand touched the switch for the microphone, he knew in his heart that Anakin's proposal was the right one. Knowing didn't make it any easier to take, because he wasn't exactly sure what his friend was up to. Would he tell them, in no uncertain terms, what they could go do with themselves? He cringed inwardly at the thought, even while he took a small amount of private pleasure from it; he'd certainly heard Anakin's opinion often enough - and had even agreed with him - while they had been stationed at the far edge of the galaxy during the civil war.

"The Jedi Council has certainly discussed the problem you have identified," he stated. "Unfortunately, owing to ..." he went on to lament the deaths of the bulk of the council members in Order 66, and to relay that any action taken at that time had been rendered moot. But they would certainly be re-addressing the problem once a quorum of Jedi returned, and that the senate should be assured that outstanding Jedi sufficient for a quorum had been recalled to Coruscant and should be arriving shortly. Of course, the senate would be kept informed of the council's progress on this and on any other problems which had arisen.

He stopped and looked over at Anakin, who was still seated, apparently expecting him to go on. Momentarily unsure, he hesitated, then said, "While that technically answers the question, we understand that it doesn't fully address the concerns behind it. Master Skywalker would like to speak to you about that." He glanced at Anakin, and took his seat.

Anakin stood and cleared his throat. He looked grim, Obiwan thought, though he wasn't radiating grimness, or any strong emotion at the moment. Another moment and he might have marveled at this, considering how emotional his padawan had always been, especially these past couple of weeks. But he felt the Force stir; felt it swirl around them, and realized his brother had called upon it to help him with his speech.

"I'm ... I'm not an eloquent speaker," he began. "No one would send me to negotiate the fine points of a treaty and I'm way too blunt to be a diplomat. So please bear with me if the words I choose are not the ones someone used to these things would use."

He paused and swallowed, then continued, "But I have been tempted by the Sith, and so I know what methods they use and how a Jedi can be turned."

The chamber grew wholly silent at his words. Even Obiwan realized he was holding his breath and deliberately let it out.

"They can be turned by the same methods used on anyone else," he declared, his voice ringing into the silent void of the rotunda. "The same methods used on senators."

The gasp was audible, so silent had the room become. From the corner of his eye, Obiwan saw Organa's head snap, a silent warning to the members to refrain from interruption.

"Palpatine did not use the Force to try to turn me," Anakin continued. "He never needed to. He used my dissatisfaction with what I viewed as unreasonable limitations placed on me and my fears about emotionally painful events in my life. He used - he waited for - my greed and my desperation, in the same way he used the greed and desperation of those here who were fed up with the endless fighting over trivial concerns in the senate..."

Anakin went on, restating his point again and again, accusing the Separatists and senators who had stood with Palpatine alike, but always careful to stand with them as one of the accused. The Force filled the rotunda; yet for all the power behind his brother's words, Obiwan sensed many senators growing more hostile; not everyone would want to face the truth about themselves. Still, by the time he'd closed his statement and taken his seat, he'd managed to succeed in what Obiwan wanted, and without admitting to any guilt, since Anakin had not acted on the temptation he'd claimed. Senator Breemu wasn't insulted, as she had signed the Petition of 2000, and it was doubtful if anyone would ask a question not on the agenda again if they had to risk Anakin answering them.

So he was surprised, when Organa recognized the senator from Chandrila, to hear that her question was for Anakin alone:

"Master Skywalker," Senator Mothma began, "You mentioned 'The Jedi' several times in your statement as if they were a group apart from yourself. It was rumored earlier that you had resigned from the order recently. Is this true, and if so, was it due to the temptation you just mentioned, or to something else, and if something else, what?"

------

Anakin stared at her. She had smiled kindly as she'd spoken, as if she already knew the answer to her question, and he realized she did, at least partly. She'd been in the committee room he'd met Padme in earlier. He glanced over at the chancellor. Bail Organa nodded to him in acknowledgment; neither he nor the senator from Chandrila bore him any hostility; in fact, he felt the opposite from them. They wanted him to speak publicly about his marriage. Now.

He stared across the gulf of the rotunda towards his wife, though she was so far away he couldn't see her clearly. Nevertheless, he felt the strength of the bond he had with her; she was as shocked by the request as he was. It wasn't that they'd intended to continue their charade; but he had hoped, somehow, that they could simply go live somewhere anonymously, such as Naboo. Certainly, he hadn't wanted to create a scandal for Padme by announcing their marriage in the middle of a congressional session. But Senator Mothma's question left him little choice.

He stood and cleared his throat again as his questioner's pod docked and the acting chancellor nodded to him to speak.

"I have resigned from the Jedi, yes," he admitted. "But it has - had - nothing to do with being tempted by the Sith, or with any other political reason. I resigned because ..." - he paused, taking a deep breath, and stared out over the sea of senators towards the seat of Naboo - "because attachment and marriage are forbidden by the Jedi Code, and I have been married for the past three years." He felt the shock in the chamber as it once again ground to silence, and forced himself to continue, his voice seeming to echo in the void, "We did try to keep our marriage secret, but that is no longer possible, and ... and we wouldn't want it to be anyway." He licked his lips. "I am married to Senator Amidala."


	22. Chapter 22

Padme woke. Daylight flooded the bedroom through the tightly closed blinds. The sight of them - instead of the skyline of Coruscant - brought back with a vengeance the memory of the previous night. She turned her head to look at her still sleeping husband. He'd been exhausted at the end of the long evening; she was sure she'd seen him shaking by the time he'd finally reached the bed.

She'd wanted to kill Mon several times over for making him confess in front of the entire senate. It wasn't as if they were actively keeping it a secret any longer, but, in Padme's mind, it had been hardly necessary for their marriage to be announced to the legislature - it had nothing whatsoever to do with the matter being discussed, and was frankly none of the senate's business! In fact, the bombshell it had turned into had effectively tabled all further discussion for that night (and maybe several more). Chancellor Organa had been forced to call a recess to the proceedings in the wake of the furor following the announcement, and when she'd exited the rotunda, she'd been accosted by her fellow senators and their aides alike, demanding detailed explanations of their intimate lives (The most outrageous so far had to be, "Hey, honey, does he use the Force in bed?") She'd tried to ignore them, pressing towards where she knew Anakin should be, and fortunately found him without too much trouble - Obiwan was helping him navigate through his own encircling crowd as he stared in blinking apprehension at the newscam (the only one permitted inside the building) hovering in front of his face.

But if she'd thought she'd had trouble getting to Anakin in the first place, it was nothing like trying to get out of the building together. Whereas the crowd had parted fairly easily for her alone, once they were together, no one wanted to budge. Even those not actively asking them questions seemed to want to stand as if rooted into the floor and stare. She'd been glad when the chancellor had appeared to help disperse them, though even then most were reluctant to stand aside.

They'd made it outside only to be confronted with what appeared to be every newscam on the planet, wanting to know such newsworthy information as when they'd gotten married and when the baby was due. At least, she thought, they weren't as openly rude as the senators and their aides had been; none of them asked her anything about sex. Thank goodness. As Obiwan demonstrated, they could be pushed aside fairly easily, so that they had little difficulty boarding their transport, but even though she'd promised to make a public statement answering their questions sometime the next day, the newscams, equipped with repulsorlift technology, had followed them home. Some of the more brazen tried to come inside through the veranda, which was plainly illegal. Anakin had Force-pushed the first few that entered, sending them careening into the wall where their delicate sensors had been smashed. He'd also made sure that the others, hovering just beyond the terrace, heard him order Artoo to stand guard on the veranda and shoot down any more who came inside.

They'd had to close all the blinds and shut the apartment up as tightly as possible to keep the newscams from happily filming them sleeping in bed. Or, she thought, doing any other exciting things, like brushing their teeth or yawning (or, well, she acknowledged, maybe they too wanted to know if he used the Force in bed. Not that they'd get a chance to find out even with the windows left open; the both of them were so exhausted).

So here they were, she reflected, virtual prisoners in their own apartment, unable to even look outside without being constantly photographed. But, she thought, looking at her husband's sleeping face, it wasn't the end of the world. They still had each other. And as painful as it had been, the awful scene had completely cleared the air. She ought to be grateful for that, at least.

Anakin sighed in his sleep and turned onto his side. Padme slowly extricated herself from the bed, easing back the sheet and then sliding her feet off the edge of the mattress. She bit her lip; getting up without waking him would have been much easier if she weren't pregnant. But she managed it anyway by ending up in a sitting position on the carpet. Holding her breath, she eased the last of her weight off the bed. She stood and looked down at her husband as she carefully replaced the sheet, and it occurred to her that this was the first time they'd awakened in daylight together since their honeymoon. Only she had no intention of letting him awaken just yet. He needed rest and she intended to see that he got it.

She carefully tiptoed out of the room and went to find Threepio. Fortunately, she didn't have to pass the veranda to locate him.

"Mistress Padme!" he exclaimed. His voice seemed to shout in the quiet of the apartment.

"Threepio," she whispered, "Shhh. Anakin is sleeping. I don't want him to wake up."

"Oh, I am dreadfully sorry, Mistress," he said in a more subdued tone. "I am so inept as these things; I can't tell you how ..."

"Threepio," she interrupted, "Have the newscams left yet?"

"Unfortunately not," he reported. "Though Artoo has successfully kept them out of the apartment."

"Did he have to shoot any?"

"Just one, I believe," he replied. "Shall I go and ask him for a status report?"

"No, no, that won't be necessary," she said. "Can you have a light breakfast ready for me in my office after I shower?"

"Of course I can."

"Thank you."

She watched Threepio toddle off in the direction of the kitchen for a moment and then halfheartedly returned to the bathroom. Truthfully, she was still a bit tired from the previous night herself and would have preferred to sit and work comfortably in her nightgown. But, she thought, if the newscams did manage to penetrate into the apartment, she wanted to be dressed for the occasion. Wearily, she heaved a sigh as she realized she couldn't even relax in her own home.

------

As she'd requested, Threepio brought her breakfast to her in the office after she'd showered and dressed, where she was sitting in front of the computer, trying to work up the nerve to turn it on. She knew she at least had to write a letter of apology and resignation to the queen; no doubt she'd seen the fiasco in the senate on the holovid last night - or at least been informed about it by someone who had. And it was not a good time for Naboo anyway, occurring right after Palpatine had tried to take over the republic. She wondered if it could get any worse.

_Only if you keep putting it off, Padme,_ she told herself, and switched on the computer, cringing against the holonet splash page she'd previously chosen - _Galactic Headline News_. As best she could, she tried not to look at it, but curiosity got the better of her and she couldn't resist a peek to see just how horrible it had gotten (well, she had to know so she'd know how to word the letter of apology, right?). But when she read the actual headline - several times, just to be sure she'd read it correctly - she could only sit there with her mouth open in astonishment.

_Star-Crossed Lovers Risk All_

Quickly she scanned the article to see if the headline might not just be a sarcastic comment, but the sentiment appeared to be genuine. She and Anakin were portrayed as two visionaries standing against the dogmatic, narrowminded institutions of which they were (or had been) a part. Hesitantly, almost not daring to push her luck, she selected_ more headlines on this topic._ And found them, an entire page of articles devoted to their Great Love Story - all written without knowing a thing about their relationship, except that they happened to be a married couple (well, okay, a married couple expecting a baby).

She wanted to read them all, but knew she didn't dare spend the time or it would take her all day (and longer), because on the holonet there were inevitably more where the first articles had come from, and more after that, and then more on somewhat related articles, and on and on seemingly forever (plus she had no desire whatsoever to read any speculation about, for instance, the use of the Force in bed, which was probably floating around on the net somewhere. _Ewww_). At random, she selected an article on about the middle of the page and read through a long piece of sheer, fantastical speculation about how they'd met and married and even how they lived together. To be fair, the author admitted up front it was speculation. She might have been tempted to read more, so overwhelmed was she that they were being elevated to the rank of heros instead of being declared the worst kind of pariahs, except that the addendum to the article promised to clear up any further speculation on "these topics" once and for all in the later edition, because "Senator Amidala promised a full statement later today." She'd better get started writing it, she realized. And then she remembered she was supposed to be writing her letter of apology and resignation to the queen.

Well, that brought her back down to reality. The press being on her side, relief though it was, did not excuse the fact that she had violated the law of her planet by not stepping down from office when she'd married. Resolutely, she opened her mailbox so she could begin composing the letter of contrition, and received the second shock of the day.

She'd expected it to fill up overnight after what had happened on the senate floor; that wasn't the surprise. What surprised her were the subject lines of the letters: _Congratulations! Congratulations twice! You really know how to pick them! I agree!_ and other more incomprehensible phrases that nevertheless appeared to be praise rather than the condemnation she'd expected. Just to be sure, she opened one titled _Speech last night_, and discovered it was a letter praising Anakin for pointing out that the Jedi were people too, and not gods (which he'd gone on to illustrate magnificently by their announcement - congratulations, by the way), and that the writer hadn't thought about it before, but he was right, the Separatists had been hoodwinked in the exact same way as the senators who'd sided with Palpatine (she noted that the sender was a signatory of the Petition of 2000). A quick peruse of ten more letters opened at random showed an equal amount of approval. Not that there weren't a few ugly letters sprinkled throughout the list, immediately identifiable by their condemning subject line, but they were far outnumbered by those of adamant support. For a moment, she just sat still, stunned, feeling unable to really take it all in. Then the senator in her kicked in and she counted up the letters from those she'd known had signed the petition to stop Palpatine and realized that with their support, which she apparently now had, they had enough votes to reinstate the Separatists.

She couldn't believe it, but it was true. Always assuming their loyalty didn't waver before the recess was over. No, she corrected herself. That wouldn't be a problem; Bail Organa was on their side; he would recall the senate if he thought passage of the reunification bill had a chance to go through, though he might have some difficulty excusing its appearance on the agenda when the "It's all the Jedis' Fault" inquisition (well, what was she supposed to call it?) hadn't yet concluded. Then again, looking at the letters in her mailbox, maybe it would conclude fairly quickly. The problem she had, though, would be staying in office herself long enough to see the bill pass. She had a feeling she'd need to be present to preserve the momentum. Then again, she thought, she might just be wishing she was so indispensable; it wasn't necessarily so.

It didn't matter, she realized. There was nothing that would excuse her not resigning today; any attempt to stay in office longer would be viewed with horror, given what had nearly happened with Palpatine. She'd have to write the queen regardless. Although, she thought, resigning didn't prevent her from giving the queen full information, such as the nature of the letters in her mailbox and her interpretation of what they meant (so long as she left off any implication that she, Amidala, was a necessary ingredient for a positive outcome). She could also, she realized, offer to resign pending her successor's arrival (unless the queen preferred otherwise). That should give her a day or two at the least.

She'd just finished sending off her carefully crafted resignation letter when she heard the step behind her. She turned in time to see her husband pull a chair up, noticing that he had no compunction whatsoever to sitting around the house in his sleepclothes. He smiled lazily, put his arms around her, and kissed her on the temple.

"What're you doing?" he asked quietly.

"Resigning from the senate," she replied.

"Oh," he said, the light going out of his eyes as he looked away. "I'm sorry."

She turned and hugged him.

"It's okay," she said. "I knew I'd have to do this anyway when the baby came. At least now we can both go to Naboo together."

To her surprise, he stiffened at her words, though held her just as tightly. She pulled back to look at his face.

"What's the matter?"

He bit his lip, then shook his head slightly.

"Nothing."

"Anakin!" she exclaimed.

He looked away, and it seemed for a moment that he was going to tell her, but he just repeated, "It's nothing, really it's not."

She stared at him. Finally, he let out a huge sigh and gave in.

"The Jedi want me to stay," he said. When she didn't comment, he went on, "They offered me Mastership and a full seat on the Council."

"Oh, Anakin," she said, "You can't pass that up; it's what you've always wanted."

He sighed again and stroked her hair.

"It's not as important to me as it used to be," he told her. "Really, it's enough just to think they offered it to me. I don't have to accept. I'd much rather be with you."

A dark thought struck her.

"They aren't ..." she began hesitantly, "The don't ... expect you to give up ... I mean ... not be married?"

"Oh, no," he assured her. "No, they don't expect us to get divorced. That's not a problem anymore."

She heard in his tone that a problem now existed elsewhere.

"You know we don't have to live on Naboo," she told him. "There are any number of things I can do on Coruscant - in fact, I'd been thinking about this for quite awhile before anything happened - about how we could stay together with our marriage hidden after the baby came. It won't be a problem; especially now that we don't have to hide anymore."_ Well, except from the newscams,_ she mentally amended, hoping they wouldn't be a lasting problem. At least on Naboo it would be illegal for them to invade their privacy.

"Padme, it's not that ..." he said, "I mean ... oh, I shouldn't have even brought it up."

She took his face with both hands and forced him to look at her.

"Yes you should," she said firmly. "Now, what is the problem?"

She let go and he looked down.

"They ... um ... they want me to train a padawan," he said quietly, then looked back up at her, quickly adding, "But I know it's not a good idea with the ... um ... baby ... coming. I'm sorry I mentioned it."

Strangely, the news did not really surprise her.

"One of the younglings," she said.

He nodded. She thought she knew which one.

"You really want to do this, don't you?" she asked without really understanding how she knew.

"I don't have to, Padme," he insisted. "If I think about it, I'm not really even sure it would be fair to the padawan - I have no intention of running off across the galaxy on a mission somewhere right after the ... um ... baby comes. And it wouldn't be fair to them to not have a fully committed Jedi as their master."

"Them?"

For a moment, he looked mortified, as if he'd said something he shouldn't have, and she could almost see the gears turning in his brain as he thought back over what he'd said. Finally, he discovered what he'd meant: "The padawan," he said. "I don't know if it'll be male or female."

"You don't?" she asked, surprised.

It was his turn to be mystified.

"Should I?" he asked.

She almost said something, but thought better of it. What did she know about how a Jedi chose a padawan, anyway? It probably had nothing to do with her gauzy romantic notions. She shook her head.

"No," she said. "But I think you should at least consider it." She looked up at him. "Go meet with the younglings, at least. See if you have a connection to any of them. You might, you never know."

"Did you have someone in particular in mind?" he asked pointedly, foiling her attempt to change the subject.

She glared at him while she twirled one of his curls in her fingers.

"It doesn't matter," she said. "You will choose the right one for you."

"What if it's not the one you expect?" he asked.

She thought about it; what he said was reasonable - suppose he came home with someone completely different that the boy she was so sure about._ It still won't matter,_ she thought, and then repeated it again out loud: "It doesn't matter. Whoever it is will be right for you, and that's the important thing, not my expectations. Go and meet them and see."


	23. Chapter 23

Obiwan sat alone with Master Yoda in the Council chamber. It was the first time he'd been in the council-meeting tower since returning from Utapau, and he tried unsuccessfully not to think of how empty it looked.

"Think not of the emptiness, Obiwan," the ancient master told him, divining his thoughts. "Filled it will be again, or changed. That is what discuss we must."

"Shouldn't we wait for a quorum of Jedi to arrive before we start discussing it?" he asked.

"Useless it would be to choose a new council if no council at all there may be," Master Yoda said cryptically.

"No council?" asked Obiwan incredulously. "I don't understand, Master Yoda. I mean, I understand some practices of the Jedi need to be improved, to prevent this ever happening again, but surely the entire structure of the order wouldn't need to be completely changed."

"Patience, Obiwan. No council at all only one possibility is. Discuss this we will when Master Skywalker arrives."

Obiwan looked out the window towards Padme's apartment.

"_Will_ he arrive, Master Yoda?" he asked.

"He will," the old master assured him. "A padawan to train he wants."

"But he's about to have his own child," Obiwan protested. "Wouldn't that interfere with having a padawan? And Padme might object."

"Object she will not," Yoda declared. "And interfere it will not. See this you will. But while we wait, about taking another padawan have you thought?"

Obiwan sighed.

"I've thought of it, yes, Master Yoda," he said. "As you requested. And I know I ought to, since there are so few of us left. But I can't make myself interested enough in it somehow. I think ... I don't know ... I just don't think it would be fair to a padawan for me to take one on under those circumstances."

"Interested, were you, in taking Anakin as your padawan?"

Obiwan hesitated. He'd been about to reply, "That's different," when he realized it really was not. He'd taken Anakin on as an obligation, and while still filled with grief for his own dead master, Qui-Gon. Now he was being asked to take on another padawan out of obligation, while - he had to face it - filled with grief for the death of the Jedi Order as he'd known and respected it. But the order was not really dead; it was just changing. As Qui-Gon was not really dead, just changed. The only difference in Obiwan's choice was that he was older.

"And that a boy looking at you, you do not have," Master Yoda added, divining his thoughts.

They were interrupted by the boy who had once looked at him, wondering if he'd be trained - now a grown man and the most powerful of the living Jedi.

"I'm sorry, am I interrupting you?" Anakin asked, hesitating just outside the door of the chamber.

"No, Anakin, we were just waiting for you," Obiwan told him, glad for the interruption.

His former padawan stepped into the room, and for a moment, Obiwan allowed himself to wonder if Anakin had been ill-served by having him thrust upon him as a master. The temptation to join the Sith he'd spoken about in the rotunda - had that been a failing of Obiwan as a teacher? Fortunately, he was not given time to reflect on his self-doubt.

"Called you together I have," began Master Yoda, "The last of the council are we. Mistakes we made. Learn from them we should, the future of the order to determine."

Anakin looked apprehensively from Yoda to Obiwan.

"Am I a voting member of the council, then?" he asked warily.

"A full master you now are," Master Yoda assured him. "A voting member of the council."

"He was saying," Obiwan put in, "Before you arrived, Master Yoda was saying that there might not _be_ a council after today."

"What?" Anakin asked sharply as he sat down on a nearby chair. Obiwan was oddly pleased to hear him use the same tone of voice he'd formerly reserved for indignantly questioning injuries he'd felt the council had done to him. "Why?"

"Deciding to disband the council we are not," Master Yoda clarified. "Merely deciding what the future of the order will be. Leaving all possibilities open we are." He fixed Anakin with a stare. "What think you?"

The young man seemed taken aback.

"Me?" he asked. "I ... I don't know. I ... I don't think it should be disbanded, if that's what you mean."

Master Yoda nodded sagely and leaned back in his chair.

"A position on this council you coveted," he pointed out. "And a position we granted to you, a witness you were, nothing more. Think you the correct choice we made?"

"No," came the answer immediately.

Obiwan raised his eyebrows, feeling himself begin to inwardly cringe as he'd so often done in the past whenever Anakin failed to control an outburst of temper.

"Think you a full member you should have been made?" Yoda prompted, evidently thinking the same thing as Obiwan. But to his surprise, the young man stared at the floor for a moment and didn't answer right away.

"No," he said quietly when at last he did speak. "I admit, I wanted it. But even then, I never expected the council to grant it; not as a choice forced on them by an outsider ..."

Obiwan was stunned.

"So, you're saying that if the council had simply said 'no' that you'd have accepted that decision without an argument?" he asked incredulously. He found it hard to believe after witnessing the tantrum his former padawan had thrown not only in the council chamber but afterwards to him alone.

But Anakin nodded.

"I'm not saying I would have liked the decision," he said, "but it was ... it would have been ..." He sighed. "They would have been following their own rules," he finally finished. When no one said anything, he added, "I even told the chancellor that the council would never allow it. But he knew ... I'm sure he knew they would; that they'd do exactly what they did do - allow me on so they could use me to spy on him."

"As he used you to spy on the council," Obiwan pointed out, though he was disquieted by Anakin's explanation. He wouldn't have believed it a moment ago, but he really could see Anakin accepting a full denial under those circumstances without an outburst. Not without a frown, no, but certainly without a verbal argument.

"Yes, I see that now," Anakin admitted. "But then ..." - he looked up at Master Yoda suddenly - "The council allowed that too, by granting the position."

"A mistake it was," Master Yoda agreed, nodding. He pressed the fingertips of both hands together and leaned forward toward Anakin. "The methods he used to make you doubt ... the same they were? To contrast the code with actual practice?"

Obiwan's former padawan licked his lips and stared at the floor. He nodded. "Not the only thing, but ... but what I think ... um ... it made sense to me, I guess. I mean, I could see it; could see what he was talking about. That he was right." He leaned forward and put his head in his hands, not looking up. "I'm sorry."

Obiwan felt as though something cold had stepped on his chest. If he'd thought it would be a bad idea to train a new padawan before, he was absolutely convinced of it now. He'd tried so hard to be an example for his padawan, but he was only human. It hadn't been enough. He'd owed his padawan more.

"No, Anakin," he said, "I'm sorry. I should have tried harder."

The younger man looked up sharply, his eyes wide.

"No," he said, his voice insistent. "Not you, Master. You always upheld the code. You were ... I thought ... sometimes I thought you were the only one."

Obiwan was stunned. He'd certainly never considered himself better than the others; how could Anakin think so? Was it simply hero-worship? When his padawan had been a boy, he might have thought so, but not now. Not after all they'd been through together._ He must know my faults by now,_ he thought.

But strangely, Master Yoda only nodded.

"Right he is," he agreed. "Too arrogant the council had become. Too sure of ourselves. If a Sith Lord there was, know about him we were certain we would."

The words brought back a memory long buried by too many others.

"But I thought that too," he insisted. "I said so to Count Dooku, when he took me prisoner on Genosis." The implications of that long-ago conversation haunted him. "He was telling me the truth."

"Knew he did that believe him we would not," the ancient master said.

"But I didn't believe him either," Obiwan insisted.

"Allow your belief to interfere with your actions, you did not," Master Yoda pointed out. "Report to us what he said, you did. The council it was who without investigation dismissed his words. Knew, we thought we did, in our arrogance, how the Sith worked." The old master paused. "Master Skywalker is right. Upheld the code you always have."

Obiwan was confounded. Did everyone think he was perfect? If so, he was bound to disappoint them terribly, sooner rather than later. He looked at his former apprentice.

"Anakin," he said, "I know you had to have seen my faults. I'm sure you've even pointed them out to me on occasion. Where did you suddenly get the impression that I have none?"

The penetrating blue eyes regarded him.

"Master," he said, "It's not that you're perfect. It's that you always try; you always put the code first, and if there's something you can't do, you admit it. The council ... I know it's wrong, but at the time it's what I thought ... the council was no better than I was. They kept telling me ..." - he glanced uneasily at Master Yoda - "... that I was unreliable because of my fear. But they were afraid, too; afraid because they couldn't use the Force to find the Sith Lord. That's why they broke the law in having me spy on him. It seemed like they thought they were better than me just because they were masters and on the council; not for any other reason."

Obiwan sat in silence. He remembered the argument they'd had, in the gallery leading to the chamber in which they now sat. Anakin had been righteously indignant of the assignment given to him, an assignment Obiwan himself had felt was odious, yet was obligated to uphold on behalf of the council. Even at the time, he'd known Anakin was right. It didn't matter that the chancellor had later been found to be the Sith Lord. They hadn't known at the time, and even if they had suspected, the ends did not justify the means.

"So, what do we do?" he finally asked, looking to Master Yoda.

The old master sat in silence for awhile, thinking, but when he finally spoke it was not what Obiwan expected to hear.

"Anakin," he said, "Know you the public reaction to your marriage? Favorable it is."

"Yes, Master Yoda," Anakin replied. His eyes brightened suddenly as a realization dawned on him. "They're saying it proves the Jedi are people, like everyone else."

"So the problem is just that the Jedi were too arrogant?" asked Obiwan. "We wouldn't need to disband the council to fix that, would we Master Yoda?"

"Disband the council not necessary is," the old master agreed, "But not the only problem it was. The code itself too rigid became. A set of guidelines only originally it was. If the Force against the guidelines speaks, listen to it we should."

They talked further, of the changes that should be made, and how best to incorporate them, until it was far into the afternoon. Obiwan began to feel Anakin's strength flagging, though he gave no outward sign of it. Evidently Master Yoda did as well, because he abruptly called an end to the meeting for the day, saying they could continue in the morning. For now, he said, they should eat their long-overdue noon meal and then meet with the younglings.

"I can't believe I wanted to be on the council so badly," Anakin exclaimed once they were alone together.

"You don't like it?" Obiwan asked him curiously.

His brother sighed.

"It's too much like politics. I want to _do_ something, not sit all day and talk," came the answer. "I can't wait until someone else gets here to take my place on it."

Obiwan heard the words with dismay. He'd hoped, and Master Yoda had seemed to think - hadn't he? - that Anakin would return to the Jedi.

"So, you're not planning to stay a Jedi then?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

Anakin stopped and turned to him.

"Would I have to accept a position on the council in order to stay?" he asked.

"Well, no," Obiwan told him. No one had ever been forced to take a seat on the council. But then he didn't think anyone had ever refused, either.

The answer seemed to satisfy the younger man and they resumed their walk to the dining hall.

"Have you decided who you want for your padawan yet?" Anakin asked him when they'd gone only a few steps.

"I've thought about it," Obiwan told him, "and decided I don't think it's a good idea for me to take one on just now."

His former apprentice stopped once more and faced him squarely.

"Why not?" he asked.

"I'm just not comfortable doing it," he replied, trying to shrug off the question. "I just ... I don't know ... I just don't have the enthusiasm for it at the moment. And I don't think it would be fair for the padawan to have an uninterested master."

------

_It's my fault he doesn't want another padawan,_ was Anakin's first thought. But his second thought was, _No, that can't be true._ He remembered how he'd been sure his Master would hate him when he'd finally confessed what had happened with the Sand People and how mistaken he'd been about that. If Obiwan could love him anyway, even knowing that, he wouldn't feel like this about taking another padawan, would he? _But that doesn't mean he'd want to risk going through that again,_ he reminded himself. He was just about to turn away, sinking back into his depression, when he sensed something wrong about his thoughts.

The impression he had was not strong; in fact it was the barest of whispers from the Force. If the old chancellor had still been alive, he knew he'd never have noticed it. But he did now. Obiwan's decision had nothing whatsoever to do with him. But it was not really due to what his master claimed it was, either.

Tentatively, he reached out, trying to touch Obiwan in the Force to divine his feelings. What he found surprised and saddened him. He was ashamed, also, that he hadn't anticipated it. The Jedi had been almost completely wiped out. While Obiwan had not been particularly close to any of them as individuals, they were, in fact, the only family he could remember. Their loss had hurt him in a way he didn't completely understand. Anakin was really all he had left, but Anakin had his own family. _And I never felt at home here anyway, not really. I didn't grow up in the temple._

His master felt empty. He was, in his own way, depressed on some level, though his outward manner didn't show it. Well, except for his refusal to train a new padawan, he thought. And Anakin knew what he needed most was a new padawan to train. But how to convince him? He knew from experience that bludgeoning him with nagging would not work (despite Obiwan's frequent lectures to Anakin).

It had taken less than a moment for all these thoughts to run through Anakin's head. Right now he could do nothing, so he would be the Jedi Obiwan had taught him to be and wait. Well, he thought, at least he'd wait until after lunch.

------

They sat in silence for awhile and ate, until Anakin couldn't take it any more. But he knew he couldn't just blurt out what he thought, either. He'd have to be subtle._ This is going to be really hard_, he thought. He was capable of about as much subtlety as a spaceliner crash, and he knew it.

"I bet there's some way to use the Force to get this food to taste good," he commented. The clones - unarmed ones who had been reassigned to follow orders only from the Jedi - had taken over the cooking duty from the Jedi who had lost their lives in the temple raid. As they now also cleaned and performed other menial tasks there had once been a sufficient number of Jedi to do. But 'adequate' was probably the best description the clones' cooking could receive.

Obiwan didn't answer right away - he was chewing, though his expression told Anakin his reaction to the comment. Finally he swallowed and said, "You're deliberately provoking me, aren't you?"

So much for subtlety. Still, Anakin could think of nothing else to do but plunge right ahead anyway. He certainly had no intention of giving up.

"I've never understood the objection to using the Force for fun," he said. "It's not like it has to be conserved because we'll run out of it."

Obiwan sighed heavily, and his former padawan noted with pleasure that he seemed to be about to at least play along with him.

"You know very well why," he said. "It's so we don't flaunt what we can do in front of those who can't do it. In fact this is exactly what we were just talking about with Master Yoda. Being a show-off is a form of arrogance."

"We're in the Jedi temple," Anakin pointed out. "What would the objection be for using it for fun here?"

Obiwan finished taking a drink of his water.

"Oh, so that's where you're going with this," he said as he set down his cup. "I might have known. Anakin, taking a padawan is not something you can talk me - or anyone, for that matter - into."

Anakin looked down into his now empty plate. The memory of his initial doubt stayed with him; he no longer believed it, but it occurred to him that Obiwan would not necessarily know that. If he blamed himself for Obiwan's decision to not take a new padawan, he might be able to persuade him that way, he thought. It would even be possible to draw on that tiny core of doubt to fool his Master through the Force about his own real feelings.

He was just about to look up and speak when he realized what he was doing. A cold weight settled into his stomach. Uncontrollable rage engulfed him, and screaming "NO!" and rising half out of his chair, he seized his fork from the table and hurled it against the wall in his anger, then slumped to the floor, shaking. _How could I think ... I can't think ... Noooo ..._ His thoughts jumbled in confusion, anger, guilt.

Obiwan was on the floor in front of him, staring at him, taking him by the arms. _No!_ He pulled away. Not that! That was what he wanted! What he'd been going to do!

"Anakin!" his brother exclaimed. "What is the matter? What happened?"

Anakin buried his head in his hands, pulling at his hair. He didn't want to talk to Obiwan; he wanted to run to his room and shut the door and stay there. If he talked to Obiwan, he'd have to tell him what he'd been going to do ...

But he knew he'd have to tell him anyway, no matter how much he didn't want to face it. He'd never be free unless he did. Eyes burning, he lifted his head, though he couldn't look at his brother's face. Staring instead at Obiwan's right hand, he tried to speak, "I ..." but his voice refused to work. The older man reached to get him his cup of water from the table, but Anakin waved it away. He cleared his throat and whispered, "I know how Palpatine fooled the Jedi."


	24. Chapter 24

At Anakin's words, Obiwan sat down on the floor. It had been almost the last thing he'd expected to hear; what he'd expected was that Anakin might have taken his own refusal to train a padawan personally, since the younger man had been the only one he'd ever trained. He had to admit, however, that Anakin's outburst of temper had seemed a bit strong for that. But he'd been prepared to reassure Anakin on the padawan issue; now he had no clear idea of how to proceed.

_Have faith. A way will present itself._

He started. The words came to him in Qui-Gon's voice, though they seemed to be inside his own head. Regardless of their origin, it was good advice, though he'd have to be patient to follow it, and simply wait for now.

While he was waiting, Anakin told him what he'd planned and why, and how he'd seen that such a small manipulation could be magnified through the Force to encompass whatever he liked. It gave Obiwan a chill to think that he would have fallen for it; not that he would have necessarily been manipulated into choosing a padawan against his better judgement, but that he would have believed in Anakin's sincerity.

"I know you won't be able to trust me now," his former padawan whispered, his head sinking back into his hands.

Obiwan thought a moment and realized that it oddly wasn't true. He told Anakin so.

"You knew right away that it was wrong and you even admitted your entire plan to me," he explained. "I can't see what's not to trust there. Once you understood what you were doing, you didn't like it either."

The younger man sighed and visibly tried to get himself back under control, but he still would not meet Obiwan's eyes.

"Master," he began, "suppose I don't realize it in time to stop myself? He's in my head. He's been there for a long time, feeding his thoughts to me, making his thoughts mine. I don't know which part is me - the real me - anymore. I don't even know what I want - what Anakin Skywalker wants." He stopped and peered hesitantly at Obiwan from the corner of his eyes, a look of pain etched on his face. "I can't even trust myself," he whispered.

Obiwan sighed. He'd been so grateful to have his friend seem to be returned to normal that he hadn't considered that it wouldn't be quite that easy. Anakin had been friends with the chancellor almost since he'd arrived on Coruscant to begin his Jedi training. He'd been not quite ten years old at the time; young and impressionable, and the order - Obiwan in particular, he forced himself to admit - had unknowingly allowed him to be heavily influenced by a Sith Lord. _No wonder he was such a difficult student!_ he suddenly realized. Always before, he'd assigned his former padawan's trying behavior to his being the Chosen One, to having such a great Force-sensitivity, to his being late in coming to the temple for training, or to his own youth and lack of experience. Or mostly, he reflected, to all of the above. It occurred to him only now that he'd been fighting Palpatine for influence over the boy since the very beginning.

The line of thought he was following brought Obiwan up short, and he forced himself to look at his own motivations fairly. _Had_ he been avoiding the taking on of another padawan because he'd had such a difficult time with Anakin? _Could _it be that without his even realizing it, the idea of fighting that kind of battle had wearied him before he'd even thought about it? But looking at the crumpled man in front of him, he knew that was honestly not true. Training him as a padawan had been incredibly difficult and time-consuming. But it had been completely and totally worth every moment. Without accepting the responsibility Qui-Gon had asked of him, he wouldn't now have such a good friend and brother, and he would be less of a Jedi because of it; the training had not been one-way - he'd had to excel as a Jedi to set an example for his padawan. It had been a part of his _own_ training as well. There had also been, he acknowledged, the added benefit that having to immediately focus on training a new padawan had lessened the impact of his shock and grief over losing Qui-Gon. It had kept him busy when he otherwise might not have been. And, he added, this padawan still needed him now.

He caught his breath at the thought. While he'd acknowledged his attachment to Anakin at the hospital, he hadn't taken the thought to its conclusion. Was he so attached he couldn't let the relationship go? Was that why he didn't want a new padawan?

"Anakin," he began, feeling his way as he went along, "You're not a Sith at heart. As long as you think about what you're doing, you will know what is right and do it." He stopped, then softly added, more to himself than to his former padawan, "You don't need me to teach you right from wrong anymore."

But Anakin caught the inner meaning in his last comment. He sat up and took a deep breath, trying to steady his voice. After a moment, he said, "I'm sorry, Mast ... Obiwan." After another deep breath, he continued, "I ... um ... I forget that what happened is hard for you too." He looked up, and his eyes, though still red, were clear. "I still have my family, Obiwan. But the Jedi were your family and you've all but lost them. I think ..." - he stopped for a moment, clearly concentrating on something internal, and Obiwan eerily realized he was making sure the thought he was about to share was truly his own - "_I_ think that if you took a padawan, it would help you through the loss. And it would give you a purpose. That's my ... opinion, not ... an order." He pressed his lips together and looked away.

Obiwan sat stunned, forced to acknowledge to himself that Anakin was quite likely correct. Unfortunately, knowing didn't make him want a padawan any more than he had the moment before. He simply could not make himself be interested. But he acknowledged that he should at least make some reasonable attempt to interest himself.

"I can't promise you that I'll choose a padawan," he said, "But I'll come with you to see the younglings when you choose yours this afternoon."

Anakin looked startled, as if he'd forgotten he was expected to choose one himself.

"I ... I can't," he said. At Obiwan's questioning look, he continued, "I've been too corrupted by the Sith Lord. How can I teach an apprentice?"

Though his own path was still clouded to him, Obiwan suddenly saw Anakin's clearly, and knew why Master Yoda had suggested it.

"Anakin," he said, "You told me earlier, when we were in the council chamber, that I was a better Jedi than the others; that I followed the code more closely. If I was able to do that, the reason was you - because I had to make myself better to be an example for you. It was hard and I had to think about it every minute - how my actions would look to you. Training a padawan is probably the best possible way to clear your own mind and force yourself to understand what is right. I think you should take one. Not that you aren't one now, but I think it could only make you a better Jedi." He paused a moment, then, mindful of his brother's earlier disclaimer, added, "That's my opinion, anyway. Not an order."

Anakin stared at him for a long minute.

"We'll go together, then," he said as he rose from the floor.

------

Anakin stared at the younglings arrayed before them with not a little discomfort. They were sparring with lightbokuns on the practice floor - two pair of fencers, while the rest sat on the edge, watching and waiting their turn. He and Obiwan sat in the guest chairs, though they were far enough away the children could not hear their conversation. It was, in his mind, just a bit too reminiscent of the slavery auction block. Instead of the trepidation of the slaves on auction and the avarice of the sellers, however, he felt the insistence of the younglings and their painful desire to make a good enough impression to be chosen.

Padme had thought he would feel some connection to one of them, but, choking down his distaste for the display of flesh and looking at them objectively, he couldn't feel any. At least, he could feel no more for one than the other; he empathized with their feelings, although he'd never had to go through this himself. Possibly, he thought, he might feel differently about one of them once that one got a turn to fight. Obiwan, however, seemed quite intent on one of the matches currently underway.

The two boys were well matched in size; one had short blonde hair, about the color Anakin's had been at the same age. The other's hair was a medium brown. They sparred, to all outward sign well matched in technique as well. But as a Jedi, Anakin could feel an undercurrent of the fight in the Force. It was not just a practice match, nor even a contest between them. The fight was quite real; the dark emotions of both boys were engaged beyond what they should have been as Jedi students. This, he realized, was what had gotten his master's - his former master's - attention. Yet Obiwan's attention was not critical, as he'd expected it to be.

------

The fight between the two boys took Obiwan back to his last days as a youngling, to just before Qui-Gon had accepted him as a padawan. It had been just such a fight he'd been in with his rival, Brock, that had caused Qui-Gon to pass him by (his master had relented later when they'd been thrown together for a mission anyway). Looking at the two boys now gave him a better understanding of why the knights and masters had doubted him, and exactly how it had been fairly easy for Brock to lay the blame for any wrongdoing squarely on him, when it in fact belonged at least to them both equally. But also, because of his own experience, he thought, he had a better idea of what was going on in these boys' minds, and which one was the likely instigator. Still, he wouldn't rely totally on such a nostalgic impression for choosing a padawan. In fact, using Qui-Gon's method (though his master hadn't thought of it as a method at the time) of testing one first would be the wisest thing to do, he thought.

He stopped himself abruptly. Had he actually been considering the blonde boy as a padawan? No, he decided. He'd been looking at the situation with an open mind, as he'd said he would do, nothing more. For now, at least, there was nothing to suggest the blonde boy as a possible candidate other than that he reminded Obiwan of himself at that age - simply because he was fighting someone who reminded him too much of Bruck. And that was not a good enough reason.

He felt Anakin regarding him intently and turned to look at his brother.

"Shouldn't you be looking at the younglings?" he inquired.

"I did," Anakin replied, "But I can't see any way to choose one over another."

Obiwan nodded; aside from the two in the fight he'd been watching, he felt much the same.

"Except," his brother added, "I think I can rule one out."

"I'll bet I can guess which one, too," he quickly agreed, then second-guessed himself. Suppose Anakin had ruled out the blonde boy in the fight and not the brown-haired one as he had?

But his brother only nodded as if they'd decided against the same child together, and observed, "He's a bully."

Obiwan leaned sideways to talk more privately.

"I was originally going to tell Master Yoda that I'd just take whoever was left over as my padawan," he said. "But now I don't think that's such a good idea; I suspect I know who I'd get saddled with. I'm glad you talked me into coming."

The match abruptly ended in a flurry of blows by the blonde boy who had finally had enough.

"Good for him," Anakin cheered quietly, letting Obiwan know they'd been talking about the same boy at least, though he hardly agreed with his former padawan's sentiments.

"He shouldn't have lost his temper like that," he observed.

Anakin looked squarely back at him.

"A good thrashing is the only thing a bully understands," he said bluntly.

Words rose to Obiwan's lips. For a moment, he squelched them down, then decided they might be better said after all: "Was that Anakin Skywalker the Jedi talking?" he asked softly.

"No," his brother answered, unruffled. "That was Anakin Skywalker the former slave boy."

They were silent a moment, then Obiwan said, "I thought the same thing when I was his age. But my opponent always managed to use my temper against me after the fight was over. It caused more trouble than losing would have caused."

Anakin looked at him incredulously.

"YOU had a temper?" he asked.

"I still do," Obiwan admitted.

His brother rolled his eyes and looked back down at the practice floor where two more pair of fencers were beginning their match. After a moment, he said, "You know, he was really hoping you would pick him."

"He was?" asked Obiwan, surprised. From his experience as a padawan, he'd expected most of them to be lining up for the Great Hero, Anakin. The bully had certainly been trying to impress his brother, quite deliberately. He told Anakin as much.

"I could tell," was the response. "But it's not going to happen. Although ... I don't know ... if he didn't want me so badly as his master, and I wasn't married, maybe. It would certainly be a challenge. But I wouldn't want a kid like that anywhere near my babies."

"Babies?" Obiwan asked, perplexed. "As in more than one baby? Are you planning a large family right away, then?"

"We're having twins," his brother announced. "Don't tell Padme."

"Don't tell her? Isn't she going to find out?"

"When they're born, yes," Anakin said. "But she wants to be surprised."

"How can she know she wants to be surprised when she doesn't know she's going to have twins to be surprised about?"

"Because," his brother explained, as if talking to a child, "The first time she went to the med-droid, she filled out a request to not be informed of anything special about the 'baby' unless it was a health issue. She didn't want to know the sex either. So since the med-droid hasn't told her - and it must know about it - I know she wants to be surprised."

Obiwan let his brother's mild rebuke pass; what did he know about childbirth, anyway, beyond the rudimentary mechanics involved? Only now he couldn't get over a sudden mental picture of Anakin surrounded by multitudes of children. But such an image brought up something else he'd wondered about.

"Anakin," he began, "Even with one baby, I'd wondered about this, and now with two on the way, I've got to ask: Are you sure you want a padawan to train at all? I'm sure Master Yoda would not insist under the circumstances."

"No," his brother admitted, "But Padme said it was all right; that I'd know the right padawan to choose. I'm sure she even had someone particular in mind."

"You're going to let your wife choose your padawan?"

"She didn't say who it was," he said. "Just that I'd know when I saw him."

"And do you?"

Anakin shook his head. "No," he said. "Except that it won't be Marrick Doth."

"That's the bully?"

The younger man nodded.

"The other boy's name - the one that wants you for his master - is Lige Noonen," he said.

Obiwan let this pass; he hadn't really wanted to know the boy's name - it would have been easier to walk away thinking of him only as the 'blonde boy.' He was sure Anakin knew this, too, which was why he'd said it.

Ignoring the comment about the boy's name, he asked, "Are you going to choose a padawan anyway, regardless?"

But Anakin was staring intently at the small crowd of younglings, who had now finished their matches, and his answering, "No," seemed distracted.

"Is something the matter?" Obiwan asked him.

Instead of answering his brother, however, Anakin called across the room.

"Master Yoda," he said, "I'm only counting eleven and I thought there were twelve students. Is someone missing?"

The ancient master conferred with the group. In the murmur of voices, Obiwan heard the name 'Kuniren' mentioned. Anakin did too, and through the Force, he felt his brother snap to attention at the name.

"You know who that is," Obiwan observed, but his brother made no immediate reply; merely seemed to be searching inside himself for something. _That's the one,_ Obiwan thought, feeling odd that he knew through the Force who Anakin should choose before he knew who his own padawan would be.

------

Lige allowed himself a small moment of hope for his friend Kuniren - Master Skywalker had asked about him, if only indirectly. That must have meant that he hadn't yet chosen any of the others, at least - including Marrick (which gave Lige a satisfaction he knew he shouldn't indulge in). He knew Kuniren longed to be Master Skywalker's padawan, even if he hadn't said so out loud. He hadn't dared; he'd never have heard the end of it from Marrick. Not that Marrick hadn't been busy telling him how he'd never get chosen by even the most boring knight. Lige hoped Kuniren hadn't believed that – he didn't think he had, but he had assumed he'd never get chosen by one of the two remaining masters; he knew Kuniren had a problem with control, and even he himself had this afternoon forfeited any chance he might have had to be Master Kenobi's padawan for that failing. The knowledge bothered him, but he let it go and focused on his friend's small hope. There were knights still coming who would take padawans, after all.

"Kuniren Valkuni missing is," Master Yoda related to the two masters. To the students, he said, "His whereabouts, does anyone know?"

Marrick was bursting to tell, and Lige knew if he gave the information, he'd find a way to twist it into something worse than it was. So he jumped in ahead of the boy he'd dueled.

"He's in his room," he said.

Master Yoda nodded, and Lige knew the ancient master understood everything. But Marrick couldn't contain himself.

"He knew he'd never get chosen, anyway," he said derisively.

At Marrick's words, both of the masters rose from their chairs and started across the floor towards them. Lige noted that Master Skywalker seemed to be paying little attention to where he was going, but stared out the door instead. When he passed Marrick without acknowledging him, the boy's smug smile faded.

Unlike Master Skywalker, Master Kenobi stared hard at Marrick and, from his expression, seemed about to reprimand him, but at the last minute thought better of it and turned to Lige instead. His eyes widened with recognition as he did so, and Lige's heart began to race. _He remembers me,_ he thought, daring to hope that he might still have some small chance after all.

But all Master Kenobi said was, "Are you Kuniren's friend?"

Lige nodded. "Yes," he said.

After a quick glance at Master Skywalker, the older man said, "Can you show us where his room is?"

He turned to go and the entire class started to follow until Master Yoda called them back.

"Only one to find Kuniren's room is needed," he said. "Put away the training materials we must."

They knew that meant the demonstrations were over. The masters had not chosen anyone. Walking ahead of the two men, Lige tried not to hope too much that he or Kuniren still might have a small chance.

------

Obiwan had been shocked to discover that Lige was the boy who had discovered Kamino for him in what now seemed another lifetime. He'd been very impressed with him then, and - he had to be honest with himself - had even thought at the time that if he wasn't already training a padawan, he'd want someone like that boy to train. He also had to admit that he was still impressed with Lige now. True, the boy had lost his temper during his fight with the bully. But he knew he himself would have done the same at his age. And, he could almost hear Anakin's voice asking him (though he hadn't done so) what the point was in training someone if they were perfect to start out with. What he'd been most impressed with now, however, was Lige's obvious hope that his friend might get chosen, which was at least equal to the hope he had for himself.

He stopped in front of a closed door in the youngling quarters, glanced back at the two of them, and knocked, then waved the door open slightly with the Force and stuck his head inside. Obiwan heard a muffled, "Did he choose you?" before Anakin stepped forward and pushed the door open the rest of the way.

Obiwan barely had time to notice a dark-haired boy sitting on the floor studying a star chart before he looked up and saw Anakin staring down at him. The new padawan's mouth dropped open as his eyes met his new master's, and Obiwan felt the sudden swell in the Force, the same crescendo of outpoured love he'd felt two days ago in the meditation chamber when Anakin had finally managed to let go and trust him.

He looked down at Lige and realized the boy felt it too. Tapping him on the shoulder, he indicated that they should walk down the hall a bit and leave the newly formed team alone.

They stepped into a small study area that had been built into a junction in the passage, and Obiwan sat down, indicating that Lige should also take a seat. He'd decided to level with the boy; explain to him how he wasn't quite ready to take an apprentice, but that he'd admired his skill and consideration for others, and that if Lige wanted to, he was quite willing to pair up with him on a trial basis. He even opened his mouth to say just that. But the Living Force was so thick in the hall that when he drew a breath to speak, what came out instead was, "I would very much like to have you as my apprentice, if that is acceptable to you."


	25. Chapter 25

Kuniren looked up from his computer screen. Across from him, the blue light from the other viewer in use was reflected onto his master's face. He and Master Skywalker were currently alone in the Jedi temple library doing research for their first mission together. Kuniren could hardly believe it.

He'd never truly believed that no one would choose him (regardless of what Marrick said); and after the Jedi massacre, he'd been sure of it - they'd need to re-build the Jedi order (though he felt guilty for thinking of it so calculatingly). But to be chosen by the man he'd wanted for a teacher - the only Jedi he'd ever felt he could really get close to - was an unbelievable dream come true. And, once he'd found out what their initial mission was to be, it became even more extraordinary.

It was remarkable first of all, because he'd been wrong about the need for all the students, no matter what, to be trained as padawans: He and Master Skywalker were being sent to take the youngest group home, to their parents, on their home planets. After three weeks, Master Yoda had determined that no more knights had survived than had originally reported in. There wouldn't be enough to train them all. He knew also (Master Skywalker had told him) that the council had re-thought its policy to train only extremely young children. They would begin, in the future, when more masters were available to teach, to train adults instead. While the Jedi would lose the influence it now had over the minds of the very young, it would gain instead members who understood what it was like to not be a Jedi; those who could better relate to the people they served. Of course, there would be exceptions. They had found one student already whose home and parents had been casualties of the war; she could not return home and so would stay on as a Jedi youngling. Kuniren also knew that Senator Amidala was setting up an orphan placement service in conjunction with her father's organization, to foster war orphans, and that any found to be Force-sensitive would be sent to the temple. But even this group of younglings would not be trained as he had been. Instead, they would be sent to the free schools on Coruscant, with the other non-Jedi students their age, for their academic subjects.

He looked back down at the screen, trying to concentrate. It was his task to locate the address on the planet, once his master had sent him the information from the research he was doing in the students' records. So far he was not too far behind, even though what his master was doing was a lot less time-consuming. But he knew that once the addresses were found, that Master Skywalker would need to plot the flight paths to their locations from orbit as well. Forcing himself to concentrate at least for a moment, he matched the address in the records with the most recently known one for the family, before another address appeared on his queue.

------

Contrary to Kuniren's belief, Anakin was not simply looking up addresses in the student records, which would have taken very little time. He was also doing some research for Padme, using the Jedis' records of the war, locating the most badly damaged populated areas for use in coordinating her effort to find war orphans that needed help.

The queen of Naboo had predictably appointed a new senator, however she had not insisted that Padme should yet step down from her official duties as a representative of their planet. Instead, Padme was expected to ease her replacement into office by acquainting him not only with the legislation of concern to them, but also with the other senators, the press, and any other professional contacts Padme thought would be of value before she returned home to give birth to her child. Anakin interpreted the queen's decree as a means to let them keep their apartment until they were ready to return to Naboo, while capitalizing on Senator Amidala's current popularity, since the entire "introduction" of the new senator had taken less than two days.

After meeting the newly appointed senator from Naboo, Anakin was just as glad there was so little involved, since the man had turned out to be a former artist - one with dark hair and dreamy eyes (as his wife had once described to him). He'd returned to public service, he said, because when the war broke out, he'd felt it was his civic duty. Anakin had surprised himself by not being nearly as jealous as he'd thought he'd be, though in retrospect, he supposed it was because he could tell beyond any doubt that his wife was not attracted to the man at all. Any more. That, and the fact that the guy was inexplicably terrified of him. He didn't know why, though - he'd been perfectly polite when Padme had introduced them, just before rushing off to manage her newly created job.

Expecting to be separated from her governmental duties at least by the time the baby arrived, his wife had seized upon the war orphan placement service when she'd learned from the Corellian senator, whose planet had suffered heavy damage, that there was no centrally coordinated system to handle the problem, and that many children, who had nowhere else to go, were living on the streets as members of thieving gangs and worse. But even those orphans who were not actively being exploited could benefit from a centrally coordinated agency funded by the senate. Anakin had no doubt that with Padme's formidable conviction, the senate would fully fund her agency by the time their children were born.

He paused in the middle of his search through war-ravaged planets, the name of a senator jumping out at him, though her identity was meaningless. It was the form her name took which aroused his curiosity: Senator Janamin Nojana, representative from the planet Ranbre. He glanced up at his padawan, who was diligently studying his screen (but hadn't been ten seconds earlier, he knew). _There's only one way to find out,_ he thought, and keyed his apprentice's name into the student record file. Sure enough, his planet of origin was Ranbre. He could almost be certain, then, that someone else close to him had come from there as well, but that information would wait a bit. For now, he was going to abuse the power he'd been given to look up Kuniren's background; there might be something there that would help him understand the boy, he thought, remembering he'd only found out recently that Obiwan had never known he'd been a slave. But though the planet's history showed that it sat in one of the worst locations in the galaxy, where it was always going to be first in line for an attack on the republic, it had managed to be relatively peaceful for the three years Kuniren had lived there. The reporting Jedi, who was traditionally the one who found the new youngling, related nothing out of the ordinary - Force-sensitive boy (midichlorian count given - Kuniren's was quite high, as Anakin could have predicted), middle child, parents were minor governmental officials and had initiated contact with the temple themselves. The only unusual thing, in the writer's opinion, anyway (Anakin didn't think it unusual at all), was that the boy had cried when taken away from his family.

He sighed, and concentrated a moment on feeling the boy in the Force. His padawan was unusually sensitive emotionally. The Jedi - at least the Jedi up until now - would have considered that a weakness to be overcome, but Anakin didn't think so. Kuniren had been able to reach him when he'd been on the brink of death due, he was sure, to that very sensitivity. And he'd used it to create an instantaneous master-padawan bond, something Obiwan had told him it could take years to achieve (and had, for them, thanks to his listening to Palpatine, but he wasn't going to think about that right now). It was a gift and not an obstacle. But Anakin still had to figure out how to best guide him into training it. For now, he'd simply try to provide the emotional stability the boy craved. Maybe that would even turn out to be enough. He knew that when he concentrated on it, he could feel his padawan emotionally relaxing, and the boy worked faster.

He glanced down at his copy of Kuniren's queue. One more and they'd have enough to take the second batch to Obiwan. His old master had been elected to notify the parents that their children were returning to them, and to gauge their reactions (Anakin had been disqualified for that due to his fame; it was felt that the parents might feel they were being coerced into taking their children back if he was the one who called them).

The thought of Obiwan (mixed with the need to do something besides add another address to his padawan's queue for the moment) decided him to look up whatever was in the records about him (if anything still was; for all Anakin knew, the records were deleted when the padawan graduated to knight). Still, he keyed him in, and found, as he expected, that Obiwan was also from Ranbre. But his background was quite a bit different from that of his apprentice.

Obiwan had been discovered by the Jedi quite by accident. A knight-padawan team had been sent to investigate an apparent attack on the planet which was suspected of being an inside job. Much of the capital had been reduced to rubble, and while the two Jedi were on their way to the temporary government headquarters, they'd passed a bombed-out building and felt a sudden surge in the Force. Realizing it likely meant someone was still alive inside (and probably trapped), they investigated. The knight (the one who'd written the report, Syfo-Dias), had called on the Force to help him pinpoint the survivor's location and had been surprised when he was "answered." With the help of some bystanders, they dug down beneath a heap of shattered concrete and rebar, and found a dehydrated two-year-old in a soiled diaper lying next to his dead mother. Syfo-Dias wrote that it was evident the baby was instinctively trying to use his Force-ability to wake his mother up, not to be found himself. He'd cried when they'd carried him away from her. The record went on to state how they'd discovered the baby's identity, but Anakin didn't need to read any more. His mind returned to the visions he'd had of his own mother's death, and how Obiwan had kept telling him, "dreams pass in time." He understood then that his master had long dreamt about his own loss and had been trying to help him with the only reassurance that had worked for him.

"Master?" a soft voice asked him. He looked up to see the young face of his padawan looking at him with concern, his deep brown eyes huge. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine," he replied, blinking away the tears that had formed in his eyes. "Just reading about something sad that happened a long time ago. If you've got that last one done, we can take it to Master Kenobi and have a break for awhile."

As they left the library, Anakin thought about the war orphan that had become his master, and how much the order had gained by finding him.

------

They came out of lightspeed above the jewel-like blue-green planet Telnoch. Anakin looked over at his padawan, who was sitting in the co-pilot's chair holding Sam, the last youngling to be taken home, so he could see out the viewscreen.

"Would you like to handle the landing?" he asked, not disappointed by the immediate sparkle in Kuniren's eyes. But the boy's insecurity quickly supplanted his pleasure.

"Are you sure?" he asked hesitantly.

"I wouldn't have asked you otherwise," Anakin pointed out. "You always got high marks on your simulator training and you've helped me land the last two times. You're perfectly capable of handling this thing on your own." He didn't add that Sam's home was a good place for a first solo landing, as it was open farmland with no tall buildings or heavy repulsorlift traffic nearby; he simply stood and scooped Sam from Kuniren's lap so they could change places.

"Do you want to watch the landing?" he asked Sam. The youngster nodded vigorously, his eyes not leaving the viewscreen for a moment. Anakin sat down in the co-pilot's chair with him and watched Kuniren begin his pre-descent check.

------

The touchdown was smooth and flawless; Anakin felt the boy's pride swell for a moment, until it was suddenly obliterated in an attack of guilt. He knew the source: the Jedi training that forbade any kind of pride in one's achievements. Necessary enough, he thought, for some, but for a child like Kuniren, such a blanket instruction only made his insecurity worse.

"Did I forget to do something?" the boy asked him, apparently sensing his displeasure with the old Jedi training, though from Kuniren's point of view, it was merely displeasure; of what, he had no idea. Anakin needed to remember to watch his own thoughts; his apprentice could read his feelings, not his mind.

"No," he replied quickly. "I was thinking of something else. You did a wonderful job." Deliberately, he let Kuniren feel the truth of his statement as he looked the boy in the eye. "See? I knew you could do it."

He felt his padawan relax, though the boy kept a tight rein on his self-satisfaction. He was simply happy to have pleased his master. It bothered Anakin that the boy felt this much control was necessary; there was a difference, in his mind, between being smug and being satisfied with one's performance. But he forced himself not to dwell on it, reciting a Jedi meditation verse in his mind, lest his apprentice pick up on his negativity:

_My thoughts are serene and my feelings peaceful ..._

He stared out the viewscreen at a fruit orchard in bloom in the near distance, set beside a white farmhouse with a shady front porch. The pastoral scene _was_ peaceful; he almost envied Sam his childhood in such a place.

Kuniren glanced at him and released the boarding ramp. Anakin sighed, and turned to the boy in his lap.

"Sam," he said, "This is it - that's your home."

The little boy stared at it, his face expressionless. Anakin glanced up at Kuniren and saw that his apprentice had noticed the same thing he did: Sam did not remember ever being there.

"You remember what I told you?" he pressed on, touching the boy's cheek to get his attention.

Sam nodded.

"What did I say?"

"I can come back an' be a Jedi when I grow up," Sam recited.

"Only if you want to," Anakin added.

Sam stared at him; Anakin guessed what he was thinking: _Why wouldn't I want to?_ But as he got older, he might think differently.

"Let's go, then," he said, setting the boy on the deck, before he stood and took his hand.

------

Lasri had seen the ship land from an upstairs window, and had watched as the boarding ramp was lowered. She'd imagined the moment every day for the past two weeks, since the Jedi temple had notified her they were bringing her son back for her to raise. In her imagination, she'd run outside the moment the ship was visible in the atmosphere, waiting. But now that it was really here, she was almost afraid to meet it.

It had been over a year since they'd taken Sam to live on Coruscant, with her blessing, and the blessing of his father. He'd had a special gift; it hadn't taken a Jedi blood test for them to know that, and they had been happy he could use it in his life, to serve the republic. But it had nevertheless hurt so terribly to have him gone; to know she could never see him again. It was that which frightened her now - he'd been so young at the time, would he even know who she was?

A movement on the ramp caught her attention; they were disembarking. She should be there to meet them; it was going to look bad if she weren't - the man who'd called had made it clear that if she didn't want Sam back, he would still have a home at the temple. Of course she had wanted him back (what a silly question!), but if she didn't meet him, would they believe it? Still, it took forever to unstick her feet from the floor, so that she ended up flying downstairs in what seemed a single jump, to hurry and throw the front door open before they knocked on it.

They had just made it to the bottom of the porch when she got there, her Sam and a tall man in black robes holding his hand. She didn't bother even looking at the man's face; she couldn't tear her eyes away from Sam, he'd gotten so big. He'd been looking down at the bottom step, but looked up as she appeared, and she waited, her heart in her throat, while he stared at her long and hard. Then he smiled. Tears sprang to her eyes as her son let go of the man's hand and ran to her. She scooped him up, hugging him, feeling the slight weight of him in her arms, his head pressed to her neck, her heart comforted as it hadn't been in a long time; she drank it in.

It was impossible for her to say how long she stood like that, her eyes closed in silent prayer, when she felt Sam twist in her arms. He was staring back out at the man who'd brought him, and who had, by now, nearly reached his ship. Sam pushed away and she put him down. He ran out to the man, who turned to him without being called, and dropped to the boy's level. Lasri followed hesitantly, almost afraid her son had changed his mind, especially when she saw him embrace the man tightly. They exchanged a few quiet words; Sam listened intently to what the man - who looked somewhat familiar - said. Once her son glanced back at her; it was the expression on his face that allayed her fears about losing him again, more than anything. Instead, she felt reassured that the Jedi had truly cared for her son while he was away.

Their conversation didn't last long. With a last nod at the man, Sam walked back over to her calmly and took her hand. The man stood up, smiled, nodded to her politely, and walked the short distance back to his ship. Lasri stood there with her mouth open as it took off. Anakin Skywalker, the hero of the galaxy, had brought her son home to her, and she hadn't even recognized him until he was leaving - he was so young, and she'd thought surely he must be at least thirty! She remained dumbfounded until the ship disappeared into the distance. But when it was gone, a tug at her hand brought her thoughts back to what really mattered.


	26. Chapter 26

"Is he going to be my little brother?" Kuniren asked as he effortlessly took the ship out of the atmosphere. Anakin had told him to 'go ahead and fly us all the way home' as soon as he'd come back on board. The boy's insight astounded him, erroneous as his conclusion was, given how the Jedi order was evolving.

"He might have been," Anakin admitted, not hiding the fact that his padawan had correctly interpreted the emotions involved in Sam's departure before he had himself. "Except that with the order changing, Sam won't be returning until he's at least eighteen. Beginning training at that age will be a lot different; your class and the next one will be the last ones trained in the old order."

He sat down in the back of the ship, determined to stay there until Kuniren completed the jump to lightspeed. He'd done it several times already under Anakin's supervision; now it was time to let him have a little independence. Anakin leaned back and closed his eyes.

The mission was over, or it would be as soon as they returned to Coruscant. They'd only been away for a week and it already seemed like a year to him, though he was glad Kuniren had gotten the experience and the time with him before his master had to go away for several months. Anakin frowned. He and Padme were leaving for Naboo as soon as he got back. He'd spoken to her last night (they'd talked every night of the mission), and she had already made arrangements with the moving company to pack all of their - well, her - personal belongings (Anakin still didn't really own anything). By the time he got there, the apartment would be stripped down to the bare furniture, though she'd assured him they'd still be able to spend one last night in it before leaving the following morning. The problem was, he hadn't yet completely made up his mind what to do about Kuniren while they were gone.

Padme wanted him to bring Kuniren along with them. Her reasoning was that the Jedi were beginning to mainstream their initiates, and what better way to give Anakin's padawan that benefit than by having him live with them all the time. She'd pointed out that they weren't even going to the Lake Country as they'd originally planned, since there was no longer any need to hide and she'd need to stay close to civilization to coordinate her new orphan agency. They'd be living in Theed, near her parents and sister, and Kuniren could easily be enrolled in a free school there to keep up on his academic subjects (as he would be if he remained on Coruscant).

Anakin thought she made the prospect sound ideal, but he was still hesitant. He'd be taking the boy away from his friends at the temple, and although he might be living with them as part of their family, Anakin wasn't sure he'd be able to spend sufficient time with him. His apprentice was so sensitive, he might take the lack of attention the wrong way; he didn't want to risk making his padawan's insecurity worse than it already was. Yet he knew he ran the risk of having Kuniren feel abandoned if he left him at the temple by himself. He sighed. Obviously the boy had been meant to be his apprentice; he didn't regret taking him as one at all, but the path he should take now regarding him was patently unclear.

At the thought of the unclearness of his path, he heard in his mind the voices of others: Obiwan's, Qui-Gon's and Master Yoda's, all reciting the same phrase, "Listen to the Force."

_Haven't I been? _he asked himself, and realized the inherent problem: It was usually so easy for him to feel the Force, that he'd neglected the discipline necessary for those times when listening to it took effort. He took a deep, calming breath, and willed himself to not think about anything. It didn't work; his mind wanted to think about something. He'd need to think about something else instead. Padme? No, if he thought of her, he wouldn't stop, and his quandary might never be solved. Master Yoda would make a better focal subject, he thought. Once decided, the answer wasn't long in coming.

_The diminutive elder was seated in his meditation chamber, light from the window directed through slatted blinds into lines on the carpet near his hassock. As Anakin watched, the ancient Jedi's eyes opened, regarding him. "Have the boy the decision make," he said before he closed his eyes once again._

_Of course! _The simplicity of the solution astounded Anakin. How could he have not thought of this? After all, hadn't there been many times he'd wished Obiwan had asked him for his input on the activities planned around him? Guiltily he thought he now understood why his master had not asked, and the answer had nothing to do with the lack of trust Palpatine had told him it had. Obiwan had simply been so wrapped up in trying to make the right decision that asking hadn't occurred to him, nothing more. _Another eradication,_ he thought, mentally crossing off yet another bit of programming the Sith Lord had planted in him that he hadn't consciously been aware of until now, trying, with effort, to do it without self-recrimination. Help came from an unexpected source - the sudden realization that he was behaving like his padawan; being overly sensitive to circumstances beyond his present control. He opened his eyes and glanced at the back of his apprentice's head, just visible to him over the half-wall of his bunk. Obiwan had been right; he would learn from his padawan as much as the boy would learn from him.

As he watched, Kuniren unbuckled himself and walked back to him. The ship had gone into hyperspace several minutes ago; at the time, Anakin had been subliminally aware of the change in the sound of the engines.

"I'm not interrupting your meditation, am I?" the boy asked. "I thought maybe you were finished, but ..."

"No, you're not interrupting me," Anakin assured him. "In fact, I needed to talk to you about something."

He explained the situation as well as he could, providing what he felt were the pros and cons of either choice, and even offering to consider other options, if Kuniren could think of any. But when he finished, his apprentice did not even need time to think about his decision.

"I'd like to come with you," he said. Anakin realized it was the choice he'd been hoping for.

------

Padme squirmed in her seat. She was once again in the senatorial box of Naboo, this time as an interested guest, as she awaited the pending legislation concerning the Child Victims of War Trust, which would fund her newly developing orphan placement agency. The Trust was not yet before the senate, however, and she knew from many years experience that there was no guarantee it would even come up today. She'd tried not to get her hopes up too high that it would pass before she had to leave for Naboo, telling herself that passage was the important thing, not whether or not she was personally present when it came up, though she couldn't deny hoping she'd get to see it through to the finish. But her restlessness was not entirely - or even mostly, she had to admit - due to the sluggishness with which the legislature moved. She was simply uncomfortable.

Not that there was much she could do about it - in the past month it seemed to her as if she'd more than doubled in size, though the med-droid she went to denied it, telling her everything was perfectly fine and that her size was exactly right for her schedule. Nevertheless, she was undeniably big, so big, she knew there was no way she would ever have fooled herself into thinking she could conceal a pregnancy this size unless she hid herself completely away and saw no one. Her enormous stomach strained at her clothes (the same clothes that had been made to "hide" that stomach), and she could now only walk in an ungainly waddle. She found it incomprehensible that she could possibly get any bigger, though she knew she must, as she still had another month to go before her due date. It was not something she looked forward to, as she could only imagine that by then the only way she'd be able to get around would be by hover-chair. She just wanted it all to be over.

She shifted her weight in the chair again, restlessly. It didn't help that she didn't feel entirely well today; evidently she'd eaten something that hadn't completely agreed with her. Not that she felt sick, just ... uncomfortable ... and incapable of sitting still for hours.

The baby bumped inside her; she saw the movement reflected through her thinly stretched skin and the fabric of her dress. Instinctively, her hand went to it, feeling another kick, before she looked up from the blob of her shapeless body to the man in the pod across from her, the new senator from Naboo, Palo Trephane, whom she had once had such a crush on as a child, though, looking at him now, she couldn't remember why. Oh, he was attractive enough, with his curly dark hair and midnight bedroom eyes, neat as a pin in spotlessly crisp clothes, which he wore with elan. There was plenty there to make most women swoon even without the soft, breathy, cultured voice or the slight etherealness he sometimes projected, courtesy of his previous life as an artist. Most women would find no fault whatsoever with this classical example of male perfection. But she did. His perfectly groomed hair was not golden and messy, his limpid dark eyes not bright blue and direct, his carefully studied wardrobe was not thrown on at the last minute in the dark, and his liquid voice did not catch on snags in his throat at odd moments. He was not her Anakin. And though she'd once thought studying art to be the height of romance, it was Anakin alone who filled her thoughts, her imagination, and her heart - even though any attempt to envision him as an artist brought only the mental image of her man wielding an arc-welder with a wild look in his eyes.

She smiled, stifling the urge to laugh aloud at the thought, then grimaced with the need to shift her weight again. Her eyes stopped as they passed the luminous readout of the pod's clock, and a sudden, awful dread filled her. The indigestion she'd thought she was experiencing came and went. Had it been happening in measured intervals?

Forcing herself to breathe normally, she stared at the clock until the numbers seemed burned into her retina. Five minutes later, the pain came again, though she told herself it didn't mean anything unless the next one did too. Seconds crawled by. The time passed. She was almost convinced it wasn't going to happen again when she felt it build up, peak, and then relax away. She was in premature labor. And Anakin wasn't home.


	27. Chapter 27

A sharp, red peak of flame pierced the stillness of Anakin's meditation, drawing his attention. He concentrated on it, curiously, though still remote, focused. Familiarity enveloped him as he drew nearer to its source, a wellspring; the root of his stability - love, companionship, shared life; Padme. He melted into the feeling of her soothing presence ...

And jumped immediately to his feet, almost tripping over himself in the process.

_She's in labor!_ he thought, panic-stricken. _And I'm not there with her!_

He ran to the cockpit, his eyes scanning the chronometer - thirty minutes until they reached the jump point to come out of hyperspace outside of Coruscant. From there, it would probably be another hour until he could get to her.

With great effort, he forced himself to be logical. Babies took a long time to come, he knew; an hour and a half was not much in comparison. But he couldn't eradicate entirely the image of her that had been burned into his brain so long ago - the one of her dying with Obiwan by her side and himself nowhere around - even though he knew, rationally, that he'd had another vision since - one in which he was present at his children's birth and Padme survived, healthy.

He sat down in the pilot's seat, thinking. Kuniren had been elated when Anakin had told him he could take the ship all the way down to its berthing deck. He hated to disappoint the boy, but it would be best all around if he did it himself now, given the circumstances. Although the time he would save doing it himself would likely only be marginal, he was too worked up to properly keep his own emotions in check, and his impatience would put more pressure on his apprentice than he thought he should. He'd have to make it up to his padawan later.

As if responding to the thought of his name, Kuniren appeared in the cockpit, rubbing his eyes, his hair still mussed from lying in his bunk. Yet his first thought was concern for his master; Anakin knew he must have been projecting panic at full volume, and probably still was.

"What's wrong?" the boy asked. "Has something happened?"

Anakin swallowed.

"No, nothing bad," he assured his apprentice. "Just ... Padme is in labor."

Kuniren's eyes grew wide.

"It takes a long time to have a baby, though," Anakin added, as much to reassure himself as anything. "I'm sure we'll get there in time."

He knew the doubt he had about it, irrational as it was, would be felt by the boy regardless of his words, but he couldn't block it out.

"You want to pilot the ship down," Kuniren said, leaving Anakin almost dumbfounded at his insight.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I know you were looking forward to doing it."

"It's okay."

"I'll think of something to make it up to you."

------

As they entered the atmosphere, he finally came up with the plan.

"I've figured it out," he said. "I'm going to land at the rotunda. You take the ship back to the temple from there and let Master Kenobi and Master Yoda know what's happened. Will that work?"

"By myself?" In his voice Anakin heard both disbelief and eagerness.

"Yes, of course by yourself," he assured him. "And if anyone says anything to you about it, you tell them I said it was okay. All right?"

"Okay," the boy replied. Anakin could tell he was still doubtful, and to be honest, he didn't blame him. He could just imagine someone scolding him regardless of what he said.

"I mean it," he insisted. "If they have a problem, you tell them it's my fault and that I insisted you do it."

It still did not serve, even though the boy nodded, but he'd just have to handle any problem that came up later. The rotunda landing deck was right beneath them.

Anakin was out of the pilot's seat almost before the ship had completely settled.

"Here you go," he said. "Remember what I said. Oh, and you are welcome to come with them to the hospital if they come, or by yourself, if they don't, if you want, but I'll warn you it'll probably take a long time."

By the time he finished the sentence he was already out of the hatch, thinking it might be a very long time indeed if she was still at the rotunda now.

------

Another contraction came and went and still she sat in the pod, though she knew her presence was completely irrelevant; there was no way she could concentrate on anything but the impending arrival of her child - she had no idea what was being discussed or debated, and only the vaguest notion that it wasn't yet her Trust, since Palo had (fortunately) paid not the slightest attention to her. Part of her screamed that she should get up and see a medical droid immediately, but she'd hung on to her denial, thinking that if she just waited long enough, it would turn out to be false labor or something else equally benign. And she had no desire to cause any kind of scene by rushing to the hospital for no good reason, not with the fishbowl life she'd been leading since Anakin had gotten out of the hospital. The volume of newscams had slowly decreased; no need to ramp them all up again.

_You don't think giving birth in the pod will cause a scene?_ she asked herself sternly as the length between contractions slowly shortened: four minutes, fifteen to thirty seconds and decreasing. The pains weren't getting any lighter either. Stoically, she weathered one more, then made her decision.

"Excuse me," she whispered as she rose to leave, as if she were simply going to the ladies' room. Maybe that's all she would do; maybe walking around would take care of the problem. _Maybe I'll grow wings and fly._

As she waddled out onto the concourse, she felt immediately better for finally taking some action. Of course she could not simply go hide in the bathroom; she needed to get herself to the hospital - what difference did it make how many newscams followed her? She'd rather be embarrassed than have anything happen to her baby! What had she been thinking? Decisively, she took the quickest route to the public transports, stopping just short of a junction when she heard the sound of running feet approaching.

The man nearly passed her before he managed to stop. She stared at him in disbelief, then cried, "Anakin!" and threw herself into his arms.

"Padme!" he exclaimed, and she didn't miss the urgency in his voice. "Padme, what are you still doing here?"

She pulled back and looked up at him.

"You know?"

"Yes, I felt it ... well," he amended, "I felt that you felt it ... I mean ..."

She laughed, then remembered that what she was feeling was not a good thing.

"It's too early," she said, then stiffened as another contraction hit her.

He held her through it, then took her face in one hand.

"It's all right," he said.

"No, it isn't," she protested. "It's ..."

"It's all right," he insisted.

She wanted to believe him but couldn't see how. It was a month too early for this. Guilt rose in her at how she'd just been wishing it was over. _I didn't mean it,_ she thought helplessly.

"Let's go to the hospital," her husband said sensibly.

She turned to go, but with the movement, she heard a sudden popping sound and a gush of warm water soaked her legs. Gasping, she froze in place, terrified.

"What's the matter?" Anakin asked, the edge of panic starting in his voice.

"My water broke," she managed to say, realizing that her long heavy dress still hid the evidence.

"Can you still walk?" he asked.

"Yes ..." she began, then amended it to, "I don't know." The baby had shifted inside her; it felt ... different.

"Do you want me to carry you?"

"No," she said, then, "Yes ... no ..."

He scooped her up and strode away.


	28. Chapter 28

_Author's Note: _ Only one more chapter after this.

* * *

Obiwan opened his eyes, surprised to see daylight streaming in through the high, clerestory windows in a private waiting area of the hospital. Beside him Anakin's padawan lay curled on the couch, still sleeping. The room was perfectly still; no one was about.

_The babies still haven't come?_ he wondered, though he knew they must not have; the med-droid he'd spoken to had assured him it he would be notified of the birth immediately. But, looking around in the quiet, he wondered what it was that had interrupted his meditation. Focusing in the Force, he reached out tentatively for his brother: _anxiety, weariness, anticipation ..._ No, his children were not yet here. What then?

Approaching footsteps answered his question; someone had come to see him - or, more likely - to ask about the 'baby.' He sat up straight, his attention on the doorway, which was soon filled with the large form of the recently elected (no longer 'acting') Chancellor Bail Organa.

"Any news yet?" the man asked. Though he spoke quietly, his resonant baritone awakened Kuniren, who sat up, rubbing his eyes. "My apologies," the chancellor added, "I didn't mean to wake you."

"No," Obiwan said, answering the chancellor's question. "Nothing yet."

Organa nodded, glancing perfunctorily around the room before returning his attention to Obiwan. "Do you suppose they'll be able to give an estimate if I find someone to ask?" he inquired.

"I don't know," Obiwan replied. "But you can go on in the delivery room if you want. We were in there for several hours last night." He didn't add that they'd left when it had become obvious Anakin and Padme both seemed to have forgotten they were even there. But the chancellor made no move to do as Obiwan had suggested. Instead he frowned, as if deep in thought.

"Is something wrong?" Obiwan asked him.

It took him a moment, as if he were hesitant to speak, and he gave a long sigh before answering, "When Master Yoda and I picked Anakin up in space the night Palpatine was killed, he mentioned how worried he was that his wife might have a ... a difficult delivery. I suppose I'm concerned to know if she is ... will be ... all right."

"Well," Obiwan began, "She was very concerned to begin with that she went into labor a month early, but I think the med-droids managed to convince her that the babies won't suffer any complications from it."

"Ah," Organa said, trying to sound pleased, but it was clear to Obiwan that he had not really answered the man's question. Was there something else - something Anakin might have once told him? The nightmare of himself killing Padme, yes, but that had nothing to do with the birth, and in any case, would only have transpired had Anakin turned to the dark side. He couldn't call to mind anything else.

His thoughts were interrupted by young Kuniren, who began to gasp for air as if he had run a marathon. "She's ... she's ... tired ... so tired," he panted, his eyes not focused on anything in the room. "So tired ..." he repeated.

"Kuniren?" he said sharply, trying deliberately to divert the boy's attention as he took him gently by the arm. He was relieved when the padawan blinked and looked up at him. "You were able to reach Lady Amidala?"

The boy looked abruptly away.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"No, no, don't be sorry about it," Obiwan told him, surprised by his reaction. "I just wasn't aware that it could be done."

Anakin's apprentice looked up at him hopefully and then over at the chancellor.

"She seems all right, sir, except that she's very tired and wants to go to sleep but she can't," he reported. "She isn't worried about anything ... except how long it's taking."

The chancellor nodded and smiled as if the boy's information managed to satisfy him. "I understand," he said, finally coming fully into the room and sitting down. He looked directly at Obiwan. "I was hoping I could take the news of the birth back to the senate by this afternoon," he said. "The legislation Padme was waiting on never came up yesterday. I thought ... I thought that the announcement that her baby had been born might help it pass today."

"You want to stack the vote in her favor," Obiwan observed.

"Yes," Organa replied bluntly. "There are advantages to being chancellor. I no longer get a direct vote, but I can influence the outcome I prefer to a certain extent. I happen to believe that the trust Naboo is sponsoring is an excellent way to begin redressing the problems brought about by the war." He sighed. "Whether it passes or not, my wife and I intend to adopt."

The fairy-tale image, created in Obiwan's mind, of an adopted war orphan becoming the heir to the ruling house of Alderaan was interrupted by the arrival of his own padawan, Lige, accompanied by Master Yoda.

"About to arrive, Skywalker's children are," the old master informed them, answering Obiwan's unasked question. Master Yoda had declined to accompany them to the hospital the evening before, saying it would be a long wait and there would be time enough in the morning. But Obiwan had wanted to be there with his friend, and Kuniren with his master.

------

Anakin forced himself to concentrate on the health beneath his wife's exhaustion, though the longer her labor lasted, the more difficult it became to keep the old image of his original nightmare at bay. She had gone from frantic terror when they'd arrived and the med-droids had told her they could not stop her labor, to happy anticipation when they'd managed to convince her the 'baby' would be healthy regardless, to aggravation that it was taking so long, to irritation with the droids, to exhaustion, until now she seemed barely able to respond even to the contractions that wracked her body in seemingly continuous waves. Her eyes were closed; she no longer replied or even seemed to react to his attention. He told himself she was simply conserving what little strength she had left (and hadn't he done the same himself often enough during the war, waiting on some distant outpost for an enemy that might or might not come?) but the old fear refused to leave him entirely. It didn't help that he felt completely helpless (regardless of Padme's insistence that she needed him there).

_Focus,_ he told himself. He needed to focus on what the med-droids had said all the times he'd asked: that everything was proceeding normally. But his attempt to do this was interrupted when his wife suddenly grasped him by the arm and cried out with the effort as she bore down. A bit belatedly, the delivery droid told her to 'push now.' She gasped once, to fill her lungs and heave again. This process repeated several times more, until finally her cry ended on a piercing note that told him she'd felt real pain. He could feel her whole body trembling, and she hesitated a moment before bearing down one last time.

The baby cried out, protesting the shock of birth, of inflating his lungs for the first time and of being blinded by the bright lights. Anakin stared in wonder at his new son as the delivery droid clamped and cut the umbilical cord, then held him out. Reverently, he took the baby, holding him close, instinctively comforting him with his mind. The crying stopped, and he stared into the tiny face.

In his mind's eye he saw him again, grown to manhood, standing straight and true against Palpatine's evil, willing to sacrifice himself for his faith in his fallen father's goodness; saw his arms holding him in sadness and grief as he died. A tear fell, splashing onto the baby's nose and rolling down onto his fat cheek by his tightly closed eyes.

"Anakin ..." he heard his wife's dried, broken voice whisper tiredly. He held the baby down for her to see. "Hello, Luke," she croaked, brushing his hairless head with the back of her hand and reaching for him.

But Anakin couldn't let her hold him just quite yet.

------

Padme looked up at her husband in confusion, for the moment too exhausted to argue. He had the oddest expression, she thought, almost ... apologetic? Her overtired brain fought to make sense of it as he leaned forward over her.

"You're not finished," he said, and she became even more bewildered. He owed her an explanation, and tired or not, she intended to ask for it. But before she could form the words to ask, she felt something shift and move deep inside her, and the onset of another contraction.

"What ..?" she gasped, her eyes wide before the instinct to push once again overtook her. Rationally, she knew it must be another baby, but her mind refused to accept the reality. Surely, she thought through the fog of labor, there was another explanation; it was something else, it had to be. Confusion and disbelief, mixed with anger that her labor was not over, filled her; her eyes brimmed with hot tears. And then, almost immediately, she felt the baby slide free, an easier and less painful birth than the first, and heard her give a weak cry.

"It's a girl," her husband murmured as the med-droid brought her daughter up where she could see and Padme burst into tears, sobbing wildly, drained, and weak with emotion.

------

Fear and trepidation struck Anakin twice in rapid succession. Leia's cry was so much less than her brother's had been, but worse than that, he could sense through the Force that something seemed wrong with her. Yet before he could focus on what it was, Padme appeared to collapse in front of him, reminding him disturbingly of his dream. For a moment, he stood there, helplessly holding his son in his arms, watching, his panic building, until Luke screamed.

He looked down at the baby he held, feeling the power of the Force run through him. He'd known the boy had it; taken that for granted after the vision of his dream. Until now, he hadn't paid much attention to it, though he'd used the boy's Force-sensitivity without even thinking to calm him before. Desperately, he called on all the willpower he had to conquer his own fear, surprised to discover that as he brought his panic under control, Luke's cries diminished. _He's reacting to my fear,_ he thought in wonder. Always before, he believed, his fears had affected only himself, crippling him and keeping him from reaching his full potential. He had accepted the inevitability of this - he'd never been the Jedi he should have been, never come up to the standard. He deserved to live in fear._ But Luke doesn't deserve it,_ he thought, and with an inner resolve he'd never known he had, finally, at long last, Anakin gave his will up to the Force.

The baby stopped crying as he'd known he would, and he glanced up at his wife, unafraid. She looked back at him, shivering and still sobbing, though now silently. But she was not dying, just overcome with emotion, and now he saw clearly the images in his second dream, the one where his family survived in happiness. He handed Luke to her and she took him eagerly, smiling through her tears. Then, with resolve, he turned his attention to his daughter.

She was so tiny, he thought as he took her from the med-droid, her body disturbingly limp. If she was Force-sensitive, he could not immediately tell, as he had with her brother. But holding her close, he opened his mind to her anyway.

The thread ran deep, into the vastness of the universe, woven into the Force, connecting all that was familiar to her. And though she did not yet have names for them herself, her father understood them, and recognized the steady companionship of her brother, the constant, soothing presence of her mother, and his own presence, beloved by her mother, and felt by her before birth through the Force. She had bound herself so tightly to these that she had been born twice - once in her brother's experience and the second time in her own. She had experienced both her mother's seventeen hour labor and her father's terrible fear of loss. And now, she lay in Anakin's arms completely exhausted, sound asleep. He rocked her gently, sending feelings of his love and quiet harmony to her, where they would filter into her dreams, and so not disturb her sleep.


	29. Chapter 29

Author's Note: This is the last chapter of this story. I'd like to thank everyone for reading it & especially for your comments. I do also have more Star Wars stories that I will be posting very soon.

* * *

Kuniren stared at his room in the Jedi temple for what he wondered would be the last time. He was ready to go; being a Jedi, he owned nothing of his own, so there was nothing for him to pack. He was simply waiting. He could have gone out to a common room to say good-bye to everyone, but he didn't feel like it. He hadn't really felt like doing much for the past two days - ever since Master Skywalker's children had been born.

No, that wasn't entirely right, he told himself. If he were honest, he hadn't felt like doing much ever since the girl had been born (even though there was only about a five minute difference in their birth times). But her arrival had been the one to make him think - to make him wonder about himself.

He'd been elated when he'd first felt her come into the world - felt them both. The sensation was so recognizable as the opposite of what he'd felt when the temple had been attacked that it had been impossible not to feel joy. But he'd also felt the immediate spike of fear from their father which centered on how the girl perceived the Force. And even after his master had conquered that fear, he'd remained concerned, all the way up until the last time Kuniren had seen him, yesterday evening, when he'd left the temple, saying he would return today to collect him for their journey to Naboo.

His master had been here the day before, to ask Master Yoda many questions, all of them about the girl. Kuniren had been with him the whole time; nothing was kept secret, but the more time he had to think about it, the questions Master Skywalker had asked bothered him. Some questions were, of course, simply odd, such as when he'd asked what would have happened to Leia's Force-sense if her mother had died at birth, her father had turned to the dark side, and she and her brother had been taken to separate planets to be raised. The old master had, of course, replied, that there was no way to tell; several possibilities suggested themselves. The most obvious, according to him, was that she might likely have died of shock. Alternatively, he said, she might have lost her mind, or if she were very strong-minded, simply shut that part of herself down in reaction to the pain. He thought it extremely unlikely that she could have come through such a birth unscarred (though he kindly added that if her father had turned to the dark side, appearing to have no Force-sense would serve her well as protection from him). Master Skywalker had nodded, and Master Yoda, as he was in the habit of doing, naturally asked why he'd wanted to know. To which his master had replied that if a possible answer could have been 'nothing would have happened,' he would have had someone to ask for help with her. They then began talking about his need for help, which was the part that bothered Kuniren. It bothered him because he knew that Leia Skywalker's Force-gift was the same as his own. And if Master Skywalker, who was the most powerful Jedi living needed help with a baby like him, how would his own parents have possibly coped?

The problem was, this provided the logical answer to a question he'd long asked himself. Though he no longer had any physical memory of his parents, what he did have were the emotions associated with his leaving them - courtesy of his Force-gift. And though it seemed to him that they'd been sad about his leaving, he knew they'd felt a great sense of relief, as well. Relief, he thought, to be rid of someone so difficult; a baby who would tune into someone's passing mood and assume it as his own.

Kuniren was so far into his own thoughts that he failed to notice a presence at his door until the visitor knocked. He jumped, startled, and before he could say, 'come in,' the door slid aside to reveal his master standing there, a grave expression on his face.

"Aren't you coming?" he asked softly. "I thought you would be downstairs already."

He glanced up at him, then away.

"I don't have to come," he managed to make himself say.

He heard his master sigh, then felt him kneel down beside him and clasp him by the shoulder. The man started to speak, stopped, was silent a moment, and then finally said, "Well, if you choose not to, I think you owe me an explanation. Don't you?"

Put that way, he had to admit his master was right. He'd waited till the last minute to make the offer. Even though his master would be better off without him, he needed to know it wasn't a child's whim. Except that he could think of no way to put it that would not end up insulting Leia.

"I'd just be in your way," he tried saying, though he knew that was lame. So lame, he could almost anticipate the response: _In your way how?_

But his master didn't say that. Instead, he took him by both shoulders and said, "Is that what you felt when you looked at my feelings about it?"

Kuniren was silent. He hadn't actually sought out his master's feelings; it would have left him too broken-hearted to know for a fact that he was unwanted.

"I know full well you didn't," Master Skywalker told him. "So do it now. That's an order, padawan."

Kuniren looked up at him, hoping for a reprieve, but he met only the fierce stare of his master. His eyes seemed to look right down into his soul, and he was reminded of his first contact with him, and how it had felt as if he were something slightly more than human. Reluctantly, he reached out, braced for what he knew must be coming ...

And met only his master's love for him. The shock brought tears to his eyes. He blinked and looked away, embarrassed.

"What made you think you were unwanted?" His voice was quiet, but it was evident that if it was a person who'd made him feel that way, that person would be very sorry indeed.

"Yesterday," he mumbled. "When you were talking to Master Yoda."

His master was silent for a long while. Kuniren finally chanced a glimpse of his face out of the corner of his eye - he was chewing on his lower lip, his brow furrowed, lost in thought. But he glanced up before Kuniren could look away.

"About my daughter," he said. Kuniren stared at the floor. His master sighed again. "I could try to guess your reasons, but I might be wrong. It would be better if you just told me."

Slowly, hesitantly, Kuniren did, beginning with the difficulty his master had described to Master Yoda and ending with his own conclusion about his parents. When he finished, his master closed his eyes in pain.

"I don't know your parents," he said softly. "So I can't tell you that you're definitely wrong about what you felt. I _can_ tell you that your conclusion about their relief isn't the only possible one - they could easily have been relieved that you could be trained by someone who understood your talent, for instance.

"But I do know about me," he continued. "And it isn't just that I want you to come. Before the babies came, that might have been all it was, but now, I really need you, because I think Leia needs you. She needs someone who can show her how to separate others' feelings from her own. I think you can do that, if you're willing. Are you?"

Kuniren was so stunned he was unable to say anything. It was definitely something he could do; why hadn't he thought of it himself instead of wallowing in self-pity? There was no age-threshold for that kind of learning. He felt his cheeks flame with embarrassment.

"Of course, you won't have to spend all your time training a baby," his master went on, ignoring his discomfort. "Master Yoda has given us an assignment to work on while we're there." He paused a moment for impact, then said, "We're to trace Palpatine's origins to see if we can find where he started his study of the Force."

The boy couldn't believe it - a real assignment, possibly even a dangerous one. And a family, one he'd truly been invited into - one where he was wanted. He wasn't sure about his master's interpretation of his old family's relief, but it seemed to matter much less now. Still unable to speak, he gave his master a hug, which was happily returned. Then they left his room, and he didn't look back.

------

Master Kenobi and his friend (and Master Kenobi's padawan) Lige rode with them to the spaceport and saw them off. He found out there from Lige that the two of them had an assignment as well - they were to make sure a superweapon found on the old chancellor's computer had never been built, or if it had, to make sure it was destroyed. After that, they were actually going to join them on Naboo to help in their quest. So, though they all said goodbye, they knew it was only for a short time. They boarded their ship, it blasted off, and Coruscant was left far behind. Kuniren watched it recede into the blackness of space, then went to their cabin to join his new family.

------

------

The life of the Chosen One continued, though the telling of this part of it is now over. He remained a Jedi all his life, and his children did as well, though the code was much changed by their day, and families were openly permitted. After a long time had passed and their grandchildren grown, Padme Amidala finally passed on to become one with the Force. Her husband's empty clothes were found beside her body, the expression on her own face peaceful and happy. Anakin was never seen again, and some say he lives still. Whether or not this is true, he is the only Chosen One in history to survive his destiny and lead a full and satisfying life.

* * *


End file.
